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alleiradayne · 5 years ago

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There’s Something Strange A Reader/Sam Winchester Series

When Y/N Y/L/N escapes to the upper Midwest for a weekend of inspiration to begin her tenth paranormal thriller novel, she never imagined the source of that inspiration to be her own life. Between the old mansion, two peculiar men posing as antiquers, and the mysterious death of the heiress of Hill Manor one-hundred and fifty years ago, Y/N learns the truth about far more than the paranormal.

Part VII - The Aftermath

Summary: The next morning... Warnings/Tags: Angst, fluff, mentions of sexual topics Square filled: Author AU Characters/Pairings: Reader/Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester Word Count: 1,718 A/N: For @spnfluffbingo2019, this entire series fills the Author AU square. Super giant huge thank you to @atc74 who beta’d this giant thing for me.

The crisp fall breeze cooled her cheeks as Y/N slipped through the front door of Hill Manor, eager to be on her way. With the sun barely above the trees, she had decided to leave then rather than face Sam. She couldn’t bare the thought of disappointing him. She had seen that look on his face before and had vowed to never see it again. Better to remember him smiling in the bar the night before.

“We can keep my involvement out of the story when we talk to the cops, right?”

Dean laughed as he said, “Sure, Y/N. We’ll keep it short.”

“Thanks, Dean.”

“No, sweetheart,” he interjected. “Thank you. Right, Sam?”

Sam hefted his glass in salute. “Thank you.”

A shiver ran up her spine at the memory of Sam’s gaze consuming her over the rim of his glass as they drank to her success. Damn him. The point of her trip was not to find a lover. Inspiration for a book. That was it. And she had that in spades. No need to hang about.

Her suitcase thumped on the brick path at the bottom of the steps, and she paused, heart and mind in conflict. A deep breath filled her lungs as she turned around to soak in the essence of the mansion one last time. But instead of the house, she only saw Sam Winchester standing in the arch of the covered porch, staring at her.

“We never got a chance to talk,” he said as he started down the steps.

By no fault of hers. Between guests and police, Sam and Dean had been busy the rest of the night. True to Dean’s word, they had kept her involvement out of the story. And when the police had interviewed her, she claimed to have slept through it all, exhausted from a long day of writing. The officer had recognized her then, and in a complete dereliction of duty, asked for her autograph. Y/N had gladly given it, but then returned to her room for some much-needed sleep.

Except sleeping had only allowed her to process her thoughts, her feelings. Doubt replaced anything she thought she had felt for Sam. And given the near-death experience, she figured it best to leave as early as possible.

Too bad for her, it seemed Sam awoke with the sun as well.

“I’m leaving,” she stated.

“I see that,” Sam said as he looked to her suitcase and started down the stairs. “I made a promise.”

“Yeah, and you didn't keep it,” she retorted. “I had to save everyone.”

She hadn’t meant to sound so angry, so spiteful. Crestfallen, Sam stopped at the bottom of the steps beside her and held out his hand. “I know. I'm sorry.”

No excuses. No reasons. No spin. A genuine apology. She placed her hand in his. “While I appreciate the apology, you shouldn’t need to.”

“You shouldn't have been there,” he said as he pulled her close.

“You would be dead,” she replied.

“True,” Sam agreed. “So, even though we all nearly died, I'm glad you were with us. We made a good team. You did great. I don't know if I'd have thought to destroy the pen.”

Heat crept up her neck and her cheeks stung as she reached for her back pocket. From it she withdrew the black pen, its gold and green veins glimmering in the fall sun.

Sam's eyes damn near popped out of his head. “What did you do, Y/N!?!”

She withdrew the cap and scribbled on her palm. “It's just a pen, now.”

“But what about the one you torched?” he asked. “How did that kill the poltergeist?”

She replaced the cap and jammed the pen back into her pocket. “I took the twin from the inkwell base with me to the ballroom after reading up on liches and poltergeists.”

She wished she could confuse Sam more often just so she could see his furrowed brow and pursed lips. Y/N could hear the gears churning in his head as he said, “Keep talking.”

“Hillstead thought she was a lich. She thought her spell to splice half of her soul into the pen had worked,” she explained. “That’s why she took off every time I threatened to destroy it. But when we tried to trap her back in it,” she paused as she relived moment, “she remembered what living in that pen was like. Drove her mad, all those years alone inside a tiny, dark space. But she had no idea she had become a poltergeist. She had no idea she had killed herself trying to create a phylactery.”

Sam’s face softened as understanding blossomed in his eyes. “She thought you destroyed the other half of her soul,” he said. “And so, when you destroyed the twin, she…”

“Moved on,” Y/N said. “I think. She believed her 'phylactery' had been destroyed, so she believed she was 'dead’ and moved on. Into the light. I hope. Poor girl suffered for a century and a half, alone. In a pen.”

For too long, Sam stared at her and searched her gaze with is own wide eyes. Under such scrutiny, she shivered, but she dared not look away.

“You��re brilliant,” he said under his breath as he pulled her closer. “The way you think… I'm gonna miss the hell out of you.”

Dammit. He would make it difficult. With his hair, and puppy dog eyes, and tender touches, Y/N knew she would regret waking away. But did she want that life? Wedge herself into his and document everything he and his brother did?

“I'll miss you too, Sam,” she sighed. “Next time I stay in a haunted mansion… well, I think I’ll take care of things just fine.”

The red in his eyes stung her own as Y/N turned on her heel and walked away. It was the right thing to do, the best thing. She wasn't a hunter. She was a writer. She'd almost died on her one and only hunt. There was no way she would survive that lifestyle.

At her car, she tossed her suitcase into the trunk, and slammed the lid shut like a finished book. A sort of finality settled in her gut, not quite satisfied with her decision, but accepting it, nonetheless. And though she would miss him, Y/N knew Sam would get over her in a few days. Besides, she had all the material for her book, and that had been her goal for the trip. Not upending her entire life to live with some—

“Y/N!”

She froze in the door of her car, one foot in and the other on the ground. Against her every instinct, Y/N turned over her shoulder and saw Sam running down the path to the drive. He plodded to a halt before her, and as she stepped from the car, he grasped her by the shoulders and hauled her into him.

When his lips landed on hers, her heart leaped into her throat. Their prior trysts compared so little to that connection, to his insistent hands at the small of her back, holding her so tight, and his desperate tongue plying hers. And dear Lord, what strength. Power rippled beneath his coat, restrained despite his palpable need. All of him inundated her senses, his spearmint toothpaste, musty books, three-day scruff, and the quietest of sighs all tearing down her walls, and Y/N melted into him.

Between breaths and fervent kisses Sam clamored for more, gripping and pulling and tugging as though he could never have her close enough. “I don't want you to leave,” he mumbled against her lips.

She pulled back from him and held him at arm’s length as she looked him directly in the eye. “I don’t want to go either. But I can’t be a hunter. I’m not a hunter.”

He pointed at the house. “That, last night? That’s what being a hunter is all about,” he stated. “Pulling a win out of your ass when a thing has you dead to rights. It’s the Winchester way. We don’t know anything else.”

She wasn’t sure she wanted the answer to the questions spiraling through her head, so instead of asking how they had survived all their years, she, once again, logged that away on her ever-growing list. “I still think I got lucky.”

“You did,” Sam agreed. “I’d rather be lucky than dead. Besides, you don’t have to hunt. You could… travel with us?”

Inspiration. “I could use your hunts as material for my books?”

Disgust contorted Sam’s pretty face. “On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“Do not put us in your books.”

His tone had turned so gravely serious in a single second, Y/N knew there had to be a story behind that demand. Her brow knotted as she cocked her head to the side. “Alright,” she said. “But this is… terrifying. I’m uprooting my entire life for you.”

“I know,” he said as he hugged her again, and Y/N, powerless in his presence, submitted to his embrace. “I know this is sudden. I'm not one to rush into things. But I would regret it for the rest of my life if we didn't at least try.”

Regret.

Y/N pulled back once more. “Rather to have loved and lost?”

His smile shined brighter than the sun. “Than never to have loved at all.”

She pushed to the tips of her boots and pressed a kiss to his lips so quick, Sam only just caught her. “If we keep,” he paused to kiss her again. “… doing this…” another kiss, “… I’m going to throw you…” a gasp, “… in the backseat of your car,” a moan, “and tear those leggings to shreds.”

“Oh, so the gentleman is a deviant after all!” she said with a laugh against his lips. “And here I thought the butt plugs were just a joke to creep your brother out,” she teased, but her banter faltered when Sam grasped her by the ass and hauled her into his arms.

“Honey, you don’t know the half of it,” he growled. “But if you come with me, I’d be more than happy to show you.”

His smile against her lips warmed her like the rays of the perfect fall sun breaking through the clouds.

“Take me home, Sam.”

If you want in on any of my tags (Sam/Jared, Dean/Jensen), you can ask for that, too!

THERE’S SOMETHING STRANGE MASTER LIST

ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN FLUFF BINGO MASTERLIST

ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN MASTER LIST

The Whole Thang:

@atc74 @hannahindie @bevans87 @meganwinchester1999 @plaided-ani-on-hiatus @oneshoeshort @jonogueira @andkatiethings @elfinmox @wonderfulworldofwinchester @princessofthefandomrealm @just-another-busyfangirl @jmekitchens @81mysteriouslyme @dolphincliffs @seenashwrite @meowmeow-motherfucker @depressed-moose-78 @staycejo1 @hobby27 @pretty-fortune @mypopculturediva @fanfictionjunkie1112 @sandlee44 @4llmywr1tings @claitynroberts @maddiepants @scarletluvscas @donnaintx @blackeyedangel9805 @rainflowermoon @winchesterprincessbride @lazinessisalliknow @the-is13 @waywardafgrandma @keymology @sister-winchesters99

Sam’s Sasstresses:

@morganas-pendragons @karouwinchester

There’s Something Strange:

@peridottea91 @amanda-teaches

#alleiradayne writes #spn fanfic #spnfluffbingo #spnfluffbingo2019 #reader/sam winchester

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crispychrissy · 6 years ago

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Bed of Roses - Chapter 1

Summary: Y/N finds some strange abnormalities with some medical records, and when she continues to look into it after her boss tells her not to, things take a turn for the worse. Characters: Nurse!Reader, Gordon Walker, Sabrina (OFC) Word Count: 1412 Warnings: Medical situations and discussions, angst, violence A/N: Welcome to a new journey! This chapter is short, but it’s a lead up to the journey the reader is going to be taken on. I am in the medical field (I do the reader’s job, just on the side of the insurance company), so there is some calloused mentions of medical situations that I have seen before. And yes, Sabrina is a real nurse I work with and yes, she’s that annoying. Tags are open for this series so please send an ask!

Bed of Roses Masterlist — Complete Masterlist

“Never ceases to amaze me what people shove up their butts,” one of the nurses from the ER muttered as she walked into the health management and insurance review office, carelessly tossing a patient file onto the only occupied desk.

Glancing up, Y/N stopped typing, removed her hands from under the file, and placed it into the overflowing box labeled ‘New’ sitting a mere foot away from where the nurse had dropped it. “People do a lot of things, Sabrina. Good thing the human body is so resilient.”

Sabrina chuckled and snapped her gum, giving Y/N a lazy shrug. “Tell that to Mr. Isaacs,” she gestured to the folder, “who decided to shove a beer bottle up his ass and then take a shower. He fell, bottle shattered… you know the rest. Dude bled out from a perforated colon and died forty five minutes ago.”

Being a nurse herself, Y/N understood the callous nature of some people in the medical field, but it still didn’t make it easy to hear a co-worker speak without any compassion whatsoever. “That’s a tough break,” she grimaced at the unintentional pun that made Sabrina snort, “but I’ll take care of the insurance clinicals and submit it for processing.”

Sabrina blinked at her. “Yeah, I know. That’s like… your job. Duh.” With another snap of her gum, the ER nurse spun on her heel and left the room, finally leaving Y/N alone once more.

It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy being around people, she just enjoyed being alone more. Tasked with gathering clinical documents to submit to insurance companies for approval, her department only had two people in it. One was her, and the other was the department lead and her boss, Gordon Walker. What the man lacked in personality he made up for by allowing Y/N to do her work in peace. She was good, fast, and dependable.

She never let anything slip.

Which is why the patient file she was currently processing drew her attention. There was so much missing information, it was as if the file was documented carelessly or was done by someone who didn’t understand what fields need to be filled out.

The only information on the file was a name, Dean Winchester, and year of birth, 1979. There was no admit date, no diagnosis, and no insurance information. Usually, if a patient is uninsured, there’s a code that’s used to flag the file so it doesn’t land on Y/N’s desk; no insurance means there’s nothing for her to submit. But in this case, the field was left completely blank.

Thinking it was just a clerical error, she opened up the medical record search box on her computer and typed this mystery man’s information in. Her eyebrows shot up when the program notified her that there were fourteen matches based on his name and year of birth.

“What the hell?” she mumbled to herself as she scrolled through each record, realizing that each patient file is just as incomplete as the one on her desk. None of the files ever crossed her desk, so it wasn’t anything she overlooked, but it was still a huge error on the part of the hospital and needed to be corrected.

Highlighting all the files, she printed each admit form out and tucked them neatly into a folder. Gordon would need to be made aware of what Y/N discovered so they could figure out how this Dean Winchester fella had been receiving free medical care over the last decade without anyone noticing. She set his file and the folder filled with admit forms to the side and continued processing the stack of patient files that seemed to be a permanent fixture on her desk, regardless of how fast she worked.

When Gordon strolled into the office thirty minutes later, Y/N caught his attention and gathered the files before walking over to his desk right as he sat down.

“Hey, Gordon. This file came across my desk and it’s incomplete,” she passed him the patient file, “but when I tried to look up this patient’s name in the medical records database, there’s fourteen more incomplete admit forms that come up. I don’t know how nobody caught this, but I wanted to bring it to your attention.”

Gordon flipped open the patient file and his body tensed as his eyes studied the name printed on the page. Immediately, he shut the file and tossed it - along with the folder of admit forms - into the confidential information bin to be incinerated.

“Forget you ever saw those, Y/N,” Gordon warned, pointing a finger at her. “The file landed on your desk by mistake and the Winchesters are nothing you need to worry about.”

“But -”

“That’s an order,” he interrupted. “Now get back to work.”

Y/N opened her mouth to argue more, but decided against it, dejectedly making her way back over to her desk and sitting down. The more she thought about it, the more things didn’t add up. That, and the fact that Gordon said Winchesters, plural. Something else was going on, and Y/N was nothing if not diligent. If there was anything untoward going on, she’d get to the bottom of it and bring it to the attention of the administration staff if she found anything.

Once Gordon was distracted with his own work, she continued processing the patient files on her desk, but also began searching through medical records for patients with blank files that have the last name of Winchester. There were several complete files, but she found multiple files under the names John and Sam Winchester with the same incomplete status as Dean.

After a quick break for lunch, Y/N continued working and continued digging deeper and deeper into the fragmented medical history of these mysterious Winchesters. There were some consistencies in their sparse documentation, though. Almost all of their patient files had originated in the ER’s trauma unit, meaning there was some kind of life threatening injury that brought them in. Based on the amount of times each man was here, they were some of the clumsiest people in the world.

Or they lived very dangerous lives.

The afternoon passed in a blur, and Y/N waved goodbye to an oddly skittish Gordon as he grabbed his coat and left the room, leaving an hour early for the second week in a row. She never complained, though. This job allowed her the freedom to work alone without being spit on, peed on, pooped on, or otherwise abused by patients. She was still helping, but behind the scenes.

The next time she glanced at the clock, it was just past five-thirty, a half an hour after her shift was supposed to end. There was nobody waiting at home for her, so she wasn’t concerned. She locked up patient files, turned off her computer, and stored the list of medical record numbers she gathered from all of the Winchester’s incomplete cases in one of the bottom drawers of her desk.

It was tomorrow’s problem, now.

Gathering her purse and coat, she shut the light off and locked the door to the office before leaving the hospital and making the long trek across the property to the employee parking lot. It was a rather large hospital campus, but the cool fall air was nice compared to the stuffy recycled hospital air in her office.

The parking garage was quiet, and she paused when she noticed some of the lights near her car were burned out. The outages looked random, and there was still plenty of light, so she only gave a cautionary glance around before continuing to her car.

The second her key slipped into the lock on the driver’s side door, something heavy hit her over the head and her body was slammed against the side of her car. Panic set in and she began fighting, ignoring the immense pain burning in the back of her skull. Something sharp piercing her neck made her try to scream, but the second she parted her lips, a wool glove was pressed against her mouth, silencing her.

Her body felt heavy and her vision was blurry, and she stumbled once the arms wrapped around her body released her. Spinning around, she squinted at the blurry outline of someone dressed in black and the last thing she heard before everything went dark was a man’s voice.

“Got her.”

Forevers [CLOSED]: @katymacsupernatural @queen-of-deans-booty @your-modern-shakespeare @wheresthekillswitch @holyfuckloueh @just-another-busy-fangirl @growningupgeek @jensen-gal @mizzezm @there-must-be-a-lock @atc74 @pilaxia @supernatural-jackles @impala-dreamer @bambi95-blog @wonderfulworldofwinchester @batmmgray @brooke-supernatural16 @dwgrl1903 @hey-bxtch @turnttoverr @kittenofdoomage @leanbeankeane @emoryhemsworth @xalgaliareptx @mhnfatima @bi-e-ne @speakinvain @pebblesz892 @kararanae23 @kassablanca13 @mogaruke @tockettt @imagining-supernatural @wildefire @serienjunkiegirl @mrswhozeewhatsis @stars-and-seas @jaremish @ellen-reincarnated1967 @nyxveracity @andkatiethings @bamby0304 @deathtonormalcy56 @winchesterprincessbride @moonstar86 @missihart23 @mrs-meghan-winchester @miss-rebel-without-applause @dean-winchesters-bacon @curly-haired-disaster @supernatural-teamfreewillpage

Dean/Jensen: @akshi8278 @adoptdontshoppets @focusonspn @spnwoman

Bed of Roses tags: @fangirl-and-medstudent-help @somilotopia @animatenebrae @jessieray98 @docharleythegeekqueen @ellallheart @superflurry @holylulusworld @anathewierdo @flamencodiva @notyourtypicalrose @ladycynthia @maddiepants @mirandaaustin93 @the-is13 @spn--imagines @oneshoeshort @waitwhatsrealityagain @sexykitten253 @stupidtrashprincess @the-walking-daryl @thebooksiwishtoread @momma-loves-her-some-capnbucky @kbl1313 @winchasterdean @hopefulcolorcollectorsthings

#dean x reader #mobster!dean #mobster AU #bed of roses #spn fanfic #series #mobster!Dean x nurse!reader #chapter 1 #dean winchester x reader #mob AU

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klarkkent71 · 5 years ago

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How Kappa Started for Me

I know it’s been a while since my last blog but I had to focus on my final training rotation for the year before packing and coming to Shreveport for vacation. I spent a limited amount of time at home during this training exercise coming home really to sleep and get back out the door. With the 11th anniversary of my crossing date which was December 1st 2008, I wanted to talk about an experience that played a big part in my life and that’s initiating and becoming a member of Kappa Alpha Psi. Just like my army blog, depending on who you talk to everybody has their own motivation of why they joined a certain organization below starts my story.

There I was in the spring of 2007. I just returned back to college from basic training and I was completely changing my life around to become a better person. For those that don’t know during my first year of college I was thuggin from wearing a durag, to grill, and wearing baggie clothes to keeping a throwaway pistol on me at all times. Before college, I was still starting to grow into myself. When I came back to Northwestern I adopted a new demeanor from wearing clothes that fit to actually applying myself in school. Even my best friend was teaching me how to network and socialize with people around campus. At that point, I was still completely naïve to greek life though besides the parties we would go to where I just wanted to drink punch and talk to girls. One weekend my cousin Darius was visiting Shreveport from Houston after he just crossed. He was showing me all these steps and moves and telling me how cool greek life was and that moment I decided to do my own research into Kappa Alpha Psi. I was fascinated by everything I was learning about the organization from their stylish appearance to brotherhood, and the programs that they set up to help the community and campus life. That night I planted the seed in my head and told myself that I have to make this happen and my aspirations grew daily. One of the biggest roadblocks at the time was that my chapter at Northwestern was suspended so I struggled to find Kappa to network with along with my GPA which I started to get all A’s once determined. When I told my mom about my dreams she introduced me to a family friend Alonzo Jackson Sr(RIP) who was over Shreveport Chapter and he told me about his son who crossed at NSU along with giving me the names of Kappas at Northwestern that I needed to introduce myself. I remember it like yesterday; in order, I introduced myself to Demarcus, Rob, Sylvester T Vince Tremaine, and new members at the time Eric and Mr. Cartwright who would later become the advisor as the chapter got back situated and active on campus and overall people who will forever be legends in my mind. At the end of spring 2007, I was informed that the chapter would be activities again that fall and I was more determined than ever to get selected.

It was fall 2007 and I was excited that school finally started back up. That summer I stayed in Natchitoches to catch up on classes since I missed the fall of 2006 and I was working so that I could save up money so that I could pay my intake fees if selected. I would go to softball games to continue to network. The whole semester I was looking for the informational posters which listed the times and place to meet for those interested in joining the organization. When I went to the informational it was crowded and I remember the last thing Mr. Cartwright telling us was “be humble you want to join us we don’t need you). I turned in all my documentation and recommendation letters which were signed by Kappas who had a lot of power in northern LA and I thought I was a shoe-in to get picked. A week later I remember going to Mr. Jones's office who was also an advisor and having it broke down to me that I didn’t get the votes needed and that I had to work on a few things. Specifically my involvement with campus organization and becoming an officer along with getting my name out there more. I was honestly hurt at the moment because I thought it’ll be my time but honestly, that hurt did not last long and it lit the biggest fire in my heart to get picked next over. Over that next year at NSU, I joined over 10 organizations and was an officer in five of them by the time next year information rolled around. I won plenty of spoken word poetry contests and even won Mr. Delta Sigma Theta because I noticed a Kappa prospect won it the year prior. I made sure I attended every greek and campus event introducing myself to people and anytime Kappa Week came around I attended every event no matter the size to show that I supported and wanted to become a part of the organization which worked because people took notice at that point. It was the summer of 2008 and I saved more money was just waiting on the fall to come so that I can go the information and get my shot.

It was fall 2008 I was excited and ready and then another major roadblock hit. During the first week of school, my National Guard unit was activated and called to New Orleans to help hurricane Gustav which means I had to be pulled away from school and go do hurricane duties. The whole time during hurricane duties I was sad because I knew I’ll miss my opportunity to pledge but it turns out I had a blessing in disguise and didn’t even know. My supervisor SGT Cornel Sims pledged in 2004 at Northwestern and kept me in the loop on everything. I had no idea he was an NSU Kappa until then. Every day he would call my future dean of pledges and would keep me updated. Once the hurricane passed my mom organized people and wrote to state officials about letting college kids go back to school. I was so surprised when I found out I’ll be going back to college and didn’t have to stay the additional two weeks. I remember driving back home on a Thursday and attending the Kappa party. That day my Dean & Pops for life Phil told me I need to get my paperwork submitted by Saturday which Sylvester reviewed and gave me the green light on and told me to meet my future line brothers at a designated location. I knew three of my line brothers(TC, Rick, and Waskie) already and was introduced to the final three(Mojo, Seawood, and Javand) at the spot. At that point, I was relieved to know that I made it and the rest was history. Obviously, we spent plenty of nights of studying and working hard to become nupes. I had gift a that I had since I was a child and that was the ability to memorize a lot of information by taking one glance at it which helped during some nights studying. At times it become a struggle trying to balance everything along with school and I remember constantly getting in trouble by my peers in ROTC for not being attentive. Mentally it took a toll because I could not hang out with certain people as much anymore and people felt neglected since I was maintaining a secret. One December first came and we crossed though I was relieved like no other. I considered that to be the best moment of life after being born. I remember probating and waking up the next day to 200 friend request on facebook and a ton of strangers writing and telling me congratulions. Overall when everything was done I was 7 Klub, Tail, Timekeeper, and Rock klub and I remember going from 186lbs when starting to 167.

That semester I was voted chapter president and vowed every day to due to my best. I learned a lot of my current leadership tactics from working with my chapter and overall had some of the best experiences of my life from throwing socials in my apartment to overall school socials at various event centers. I learned was it was like to play to give back to campus and get involved with community service. I had a huge social status on campus and I had people from other organizations such as Jeremy Evans mentoring me on how to deal with NPHC and networking with other orgs which I became really good at. One of my proudest moments was making homecoming court and showing my parents that I was out of my shell on campus. When I left Northwestern I was involved in 16 organizations and had a leadership role in 9 from being the president to the treasurer. My final semester which was also one of my biggest tests was being a Dean and working to train the following line(my sons) on how to be Kappas. At times it truly felt like I was doing study nights again but it was cool to exit college that way. Since then Kappa opened plenty of door ofs from me and no matter where I move or get stationed I also have a network to tie into. I’m still very much active and do the bests that I can. The pictures shared are people I mention throughout my post.

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prorevenge · 7 years ago

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Screw with my grade? Have fun dealing with an investigation from the dean's office.

Buckle in, because this is a long read, but the end is worth it.

Last semester I took an online only ECON-101 class to fulfill one of the requirements of my associates degree. I chose economics because it sounded more interesting than the other options - big mistake. This teacher, let's call him Professor Y., does absolutely no teaching online, takes forever to answer questions, and doesn't really seem to care about actually helping us learn. There was a website, called MyEconLab, which is where homework, quizzes, and tests were taken. Other than that, there were also weekly discussion boards to engage with our peers.

Now I'm not going to lie, I didn't deserve an A for this class, or even a B. I missed some assignments and didn't do so well on others. However, I thought that I earned a C. I got sick in the middle of the semester and missed some assignments, which was totally my fault. I noticed that I was now in danger of getting a D for the class, which wouldn't be good at all. I looked at the syllabus, which was littered with typos and was generally very confusing. I found a passage that says that the final was worth 100 points, and at this point in the class we only had 255 total. It seemed to be worth a big chunk of points. There was also a term paper assigned, which was also worth 100 points.

I focused more on the final than I did the term paper, because I'm better at multiple choice than I am papers. I received an 83% on the final, and I was satisfied that I would scrape by with a C.

The class ended on December 15th, and the final was not added to my gradebook. I thought that it was a little weird, but I didn't think anything of it. The professor had been taking a long time all semester to grade assignments. I checked every couple of days to see what my final grade was, and on January 10th, I was assigned a D. I checked my gradebook and saw that I got a 67% on the term paper, which is around what I expected. However, my final was nowhere to be found. In addition, the only assignment that referenced the MyEconLab website had not been updated since November 6th. Remember, the class ended on December 15th, so there was almost a month of assignments that weren't counting towards my grade.

Thinking that there must be some mistake, I sent my professor an email.

Hello Professor,

I checked my grade on webadvisor and it says that I have a D. I logged into blackboard and it says I have a 67%, but that doesn't appear to be taking into account the grade I received for my final exam, as well as some of the other MyEconLab assignments.

In addition, I'm having a hard time understanding your grading rubric, so any clarifications you can offer there would be most appreciated.

Thank you,

Ceryliae

I did not hear back from my professor for 48 hours. At this point, I called the Dean that oversaw Humanities, Arts & Social Sciences. I explained my situation to her, and she said that she would call my professor, and that there was a chance that it was just a mistake. The next day I received an email back from my professor

HELLO STUDENT, HERE IS A SUMMARY OF YOUR GRADE TO DATE. IT LOOKS LIKE YOU MISSED (2) CRITICAL DISCUSSION BOARDS WHICH AFFECTED YOUR GRADE SIGNIFICANTLY. PLEASE REVIEW THE COMMENTS I MADE IN BLACKBOARD REGARDING YOUR TERM PROJECT. IF NEEDED WE CAN MEET TO DISCUSS YOUR GRADE FURTHER.

Yes, it was really in all caps. Below that my professor had included my gradebook, which I already saw. That was the whole reason I was getting in touch with him. My professor didn't actually answer any of my questions. So I wrote him back.

Hello Professor, I appreciate your reply, however this doesn't answer my questions. Where is my final? What about my MyEconLab assignments from the last couple weeks of class?

Ceryliae

He replied

Ceyliae (he misspelled my name), please watch your tone. Your final is located in myeconlab, as mentioned in the syllabus if you reviewed it here is a breakdown of how the grades are calculated. Course Assignments and point distribution approximations:

(3) Chapter Mid-Term Exams (MyEcon lab) = 45 %

(1) Final Exam (MyEcon lab) = 25%

(16) Chapter Quizzes (MyEcon lab = 15%

(1) Term Project (Written) = 100 (points)

(10) Chapter H/W/Video Assn. MyEcon lab = + 15%

(6) Chapter Discussion Forums = 120 (points)

Total Points 100% weighted (plus 220 points)

Underneath that, he included the gradebook from MyEconLab. Which I already had. The grade breakdown that he included in this email was already located in the syllabus, which I read. I'm not sure about you guys, but this is very confusing to read and its actually impossible to calculate your grade from this. Once again, he failed to answer my questions. Not only that, he also asked me to watch my tone? I've been nothing but respectful. Also, he implied that I haven't read his dumpster fire of a syllabus, which I have.

My reply to him was

Professor,

I apologize if I come off as rude, it's not my intention. I'm just very confused. The only assignment on blackboard that is labeled as MyEconLab says that it is for weeks 1 through 11, and was last updated on November 6th. How does that include my final exam grade, which was taken on December 15th. Additionally, how can something that was updated on November 6th include all of my assignments for November 7th through the end of the semester?

Also, I did read the syllabus, and I spent quite a while trying to work out how the point distribution is calculated. I wasn't able to figure it out, which is why I asked for some clarification. I'm sorry if asking for clarification came off as being disrespectful.

I wait four days without a reply, and then I called the Dean again. I told her that I didn't feel like this was a mistake, and that I didn't think this was going to be resolved between the professor and me. She told me she would look into it further, and that she's been following our email conversation, but she didn't have my last email to him, which I forwarded in her direction.

Shortly after my phone call with the dean, my professor emailed me back.

Ok, 1st the points in MyEcon Lab are calculated within the My econ lab system based on the weighted point allotment for the particular assignment. This is why I sent you a copy of the syllabus which expresses all assignments in Myecon lab as a weighted %. Hence, the 92% for example on the final, is weighted with all other exam grades, which represented 70% of the Myecon grade.

Secondly, the Big reason, respectfully, your grade was lower than anticipated was based on the (2) discussion boards you missed in my opinion, with those 2 scores you would have been above a 70%.

All I can say is, we can sit down in Spring 2018, during office hours, and I can explain the grading criteria, as I have designed it based on student work within Myecon lab and Blackboard.

You did miss (2) discussion Board Correct? I just ask this to make sure this point clarification is correct.

Again, email me after February 12th, 2018 when I return from Winter Break and we can over your grade scores again.

Thanks Sincerely;

Professor Y.

So now finally I've gotten an answer on one of my questions. He says that he is calculating my grade by reducing all of the assignments that were done on MyEconLab down to a 100 point assignment based on the weighted percentages in the syllabus. This is ridiculous because there are 355 points in total for the class, so reducing all that work down to 100 points means it's all worth very little. The final ended up being only worth 7% of my grade. I replied back to him:

Professor Y.,

I appreciate your efforts to clarify your grading policy, however I am even more confused than before. If I'm understanding you correctly, it sounds like you're saying that every single assignment for MyEconLab is weighted according to the percentages on page three of your syllabus. Then those points are counted as part of the "MyEconLab (Weeks 1-11)" assignment, which is worth one hundred points.

This contradicts what your syllabus says on page five:

"Exams: there will be 4 exams over the course of the semester, (3) Midterm and (1) Final. These exams are a combination of multiple choice, matching, ordering, and essays. Each Exam is worth 100 points, and the exams are each worth 45% of your overall grade.

Research Paper: you will submit an 8-10 page research paper on a topic approved by the instructor. A separate handout will be distributed to students with details on formatting this assignment. The research paper is worth 20% of your overall grade and is 100 points. Document Requirements Page Located in Blackboard (Term Project Requirements)." (Emphasis mine)

This seems to contradict what you've stated about the final and midterm exams only being included in the MyEconLab assignment on blackboard. Towards the end of the semester, after I missed the two discussion boards, I realized that I might end up with a D in your class. I consulted your syllabus to see what points were remaining, and found the passages from page five that I quoted above. It seemed to me that the final exam was worth quite a big chunk of points, and I was relying on that to bolster my grade. At the end of last semester I was incredibly busy with other classes, performances, work, and illnesses. I believe you are aware of my illnesses, because you denied my request for an extension on the term paper. For these reasons, I had a limited amount of time to devote to studying. If I had known that in reality, the final was only worth 7% of my overall grade, I would have budgeted my time differently. Instead of studying so much for the final, I would have put more time into my term paper, which seemed to be worth less points.

You keep asking me to reference your syllabus, and in a previous email, you stated that if I had read your syllabus, I would not have questions about my grade. However, your syllabus seems to contradict itself in several places. I saw the quoted passage on page five, and assumed that it was correct. Was I incorrect to rely on your syllabus to guide me in how to approach your class?

Furthermore, I have asked a direct question in three separate emails, and I have not received a direct answer:

There are several assignments which were turned in after November 6th at 2:34 PM, this includes three chapter quizzes as well as my final exam. How are these assignments included in my overall grade, if the MyEconLab assignment was last updated on November 6th at 2:34 PM?

I would appreciate an answer, because it doesn't feel fair to me to receive a grade without all of my work being included in my grade. MyEconLab says that I spent over 4 hours working on assignments that were turned in after November 6th at 2:34 PM. Was that all for nothing?

I am sorry to keep bothering you during the winter break, however this is a time sensitive matter for me, as I receive a hefty discount on my car insurance for maintaining a 3.0 GPA. For that reason, I would like to resolve this as soon as possible.

Please be aware that I have CC'd the dean to this conversation.

Thank you very much, Ceryliae

The professor emailed me back the next day:

Well, I will address these issues within the next 4 weeks with you when we Meet. Again, did you miss (2) discussion Boards?

I am aware you have spoken with my Dean, and Chairman, however, this does not change my position or your grade until further review.

I will be back in the office starting February 13th, 2018 and we can revisit these issues 1 by 1.

Please just reply back for my records if you missed (2) Discussion boards or you can defer until we meet and I will use what I have in blackboard as my answer.

Please, no more emails until we meet, to keep perceptions and frustrations to a minimum.

Thanks.

So not only is he refusing to answer my questions, he also asked me a question about the discussion boards I missed, which I actually answered in the previous email. That means he didn't really read my assignment. Additionally, I can't really afford to wait 4 weeks to resolve this situation as my car insurance will literally go up hundreds of dollars.

I email him back:

Professor Y.,

I am disappointed that you are unwilling to answer my simple questions about my grade at this time, because this situation is very time sensitive for me.

As I stated in my previous email, yes, I did miss those two discussion boards.

I appreciate your offer to meet with me once the spring semester begins, however I don't think it is in my best interest to meet with you alone. I am uncomfortable meeting with you without the dean in attendance.

Thank you, Ceryliae

The next day I hear back from him with this short email:

Grade was changed to a C.

Best Success.

So now I've gotten what I was trying to get a week earlier. However, I'm not satisfied. So I call the dean and tell her that since I've been given the C I'm dropping the matter. However, I still think that Professor Y. should be investigated for how he grades assignments, as well as the confusing nature of his syllabus. She tells me that she is already investigating, and then asks me to put all this in an email to her so that she has a written account. She also tells me that she was calculating my grade and she thought I earned a C. She also didn't think that I had any issues with my tone, and said that I was nothing but respectful.

Here is that email:

Hello Dr. E.,

Professor Y. informed me that he was changing my grade to a C. For this reason, I would like to put this matter to rest. However, there are still some lingering concerns that I feel should be addressed going forward.

It still appears to me that not all of my assignments were calculated into my grade, due to the MyEconLab assignment on blackboard last being updated on November 6th, and the class ending on December 15th.

The syllabus has many inconsistencies as well as flat out missing quite a bit of information. Page three has the grading breakdown and mixes points and percentages, which makes it very confusing. Furthermore, the grading breakdown is contrary to what it stated on page 5:

Along the same lines, there are typos littered throughout the syllabus, including stating that the four exams are each worth 45% of your overall grade, which adds up to 180%. If the Syllabus for Econ-101 is confusing, there is a good chance that his other classes are equally confusing. How many students have not had the confidence to come forward after they were misled or confused by Professor Y's syllabus? I have attached all three revisions of Professor Y's syllabus to this email.

You have been exceedingly helpful with this matter, and I appreciate all the help you've given me.

Thank you,

Ceryliae

So now the professor is under investigation for how he grades assignments as well as his syllabuses. None of this would have happened if he had assigned me the grade I earned.

TL;DR Professor screws me over with my grade. I get the dean involved and my grade is changed to a C. Not satisfied, I also get him investigated by the dean's office.

(source) (story by Ceryliae)

#pro revenge #by Ceryliae #prorevenge #pro revenge stories #revenge #revenge stories

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soopranatural · 7 years ago

Text

Who I was looking for -Part 8

Summary: Even after you started wearing cuffs, the words are engraved in your mind as well as your wrist. You know you're not destined for love as soon as you learn how to read. How could you? When the words "Sorry, you're not who I was looking for" are written in black ink on your skin.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: angst, pining, insecurity, etc

Words: 682

A/N: Bucky being awkward may or may not be based on my own experiences of being a complete disaster.

Marsterlist

Mobile Masterlist

Part 7 Series Masterlist

Your name: submit What is this?

What an idiot. What a fucking moron. Honestly. What did he think would happen?

Despite his reaction when Steve had mentioned the soulmate thing, he kept hinting that Bucky should just talk to the girl. He was relentless. And Bucky would never admit it, but he was scared. He had spent so much time being someone else that he felt weird in his own skin. Steve said he even walked different, and Bucky felt an anger like no other when he realized that it was because his left side was now heavier than his right. They ruined him. HYDRA ruined him, and now he was no one.

He wasn't the winter soldier, but he wasn't him anymore either. It was embarrassing that he couldn't even remember the first thing about talking to a girl, no matter how much he wanted to.

He didn't even know her name, but he had felt drawn to her since the beginning. So he had followed her, he felt creepy every time they crossed paths in the halls, knowing that it only looked accidental but really wasn't.

His intention wasn't really to follow her, he wanted to talk to her, but he lost his nerve every single time. Sometimes she smiled at him and waved, and he always had a half moment of bravery, but then they had crossed paths and it was too late.

Today was different, he was going to say something, he was determined to. He made his way to where he knew her office was at a steady pace and then almost stopped when he saw she was in the elevator. But she saw him, lifted her head and looked right at him and stopped the door.

There was a wave of panic, he didn't know if he should turn away and run or get in the elevator, he didn't even know where she was going. What if he ended up at the last floor and the doors opened to be faced head on by Steve's mocking expression.

He got in anyway.

She was looking down at the small pile of documents in her hands, and he fidgeted, the elevator would open soon and he was in there with her and he should just talk.

"Hello" oh god, he'd really lost all his charm hadn't he? He wanted to say something but not that, they'd been standing in the elevator for too long for a greeting and he had barely even opened his mouth and already he was ruining it. But then she smiled and waved like she always did, so he spoke again.

He already knew she got promoted, Steve made sure he did, but he asks about it anyway. He's glad he did when she perks up, smiling proudly in a way that's absolutely adorable and makes it hard on Bucky's lungs. He wants to hug her, but he doesn't know why. He doesn't really know her, just her schedule, but he finds her... nice, comforting. Her presence doesn't feel like one of a stranger, it feels like he's known her for a long time.

He has a flash of doubt that maybe he did know her, just doesn't remember. He barely remembers anything nowadays. But he immediately discards the thought. He couldn't possibly know her. She was too young and didn't seem to know him.

The doors open with a sharp sound and Bucky jumps, his eyes scan the room and he realizes he's on the first floor. Oh.

He congratulates her hurriedly, patting her on the back before he's even aware he's doing it, completely forgetting to ask her name, again, and leaves as fast as he can without running.

He majes a face, embarrassed about the whole thing and, with nothing else to do that won't make him look like a creep he leaves the tower. Like he's planned it the whole time.

Once he's outside he stops. He's out now anyway, so he might as well go buy some coffee or something.

He's just arriving at the shop when he realizes he didn't bring any money.

Shit.

Part 9

Remember to leave feedback!! (Hearing what you think about it helps me improve and also makes me super happy)

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Forever tags:

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#who I was looking for #a thing that i wrote #Bucky angst #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader angst #bucky x reader #bucky x reader soulmate au #angst #series #soulmate #soulmate au #reader insert #reader inserts #marvel fanfic #marvel fic #marvel reader insert #marvel x reader

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tlatollotl · 7 years ago

Link

The Trump administration says Native Americans might need to get a job if they want to keep their health care — a policy that tribal leaders say will threaten access to care and reverse centuries-old protections.

Tribal leaders want an exemption from new Medicaid work rules being introduced in several states, and they say there are precedents for health care exceptions. Native Americans don’t have to pay penalties for not having health coverage under Obamacare’s individual mandate, for instance.

But the Trump administration contends the tribes are a race rather than separate governments, and exempting them from Medicaid work rules — which have been approved in three states and are being sought by at least 10 others — would be illegal preferential treatment. “HHS believes that such an exemption would raise constitutional and federal civil rights law concerns,” according to a review by administration lawyers.

The Health and Human Services Department confirmed it rebuffed the tribes’ request on the Medicaid rules several times. Seema Verma, administrator of the Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services, conveyed the decision in January, and officials communicated it most recently at a meeting with the tribes last week. HHS’ ruling was driven by political appointees in the general counsel and civil rights offices, say three individuals with knowledge of the decision.

Senior HHS officials “have made it clear that HHS is open to considering other suggestions that tribes may have with respect to Medicaid community engagement demonstration projects,” spokeswoman Caitlin Oakley said, using the administration’s term for work requirements that can also be fulfilled with job training, education and similar activities.

The tribes insist that any claim of “racial preference” is moot because they’re constitutionally protected as separate governments, dating back to treaties hammered out by President George Washington and reaffirmed in recent decades under Republican and Democratic presidents alike, including the Clinton, George W. Bush and Obama administrations.

“The United States has a legal responsibility to provide health care to Native Americans,” said Mary Smith, who was acting head of the Indian Health Service during the Obama administration and is a member of the Cherokee Nation. “It’s the largest prepaid health system in the world — they’ve paid through land and massacres — and now you’re going to take away health care and add a work requirement?”

Tribal leaders and public health advocates also worry that Medicaid work rules are just the start; President Donald Trump is eyeing similar changes across the nation’s welfare programs, which many of the nearly 3 million Native Americans rely on.

“It’s very troublesome,” said Caitrin McCarron Shuy of the National Indian Health Board, noting that Native Americans suffer from the nation’s highest drug overdose death rates, among other health concerns. “There’s high unemployment in Indian country, and it's going to create a barrier to accessing necessary Medicaid services.”

Native Americans’ unemployment rate of 12 percent in 2016 was nearly three times the U.S. average, partly because jobs are scarce on reservations. Low federal spending on the Indian Health Service has also left tribes dependent on Medicaid to fill coverage gaps.

“Without supplemental Medicaid resources, the Indian health system will not survive,” W. Ron Allen — a tribal leader who chairs CMS’ Tribal Technical Advisory Group — warned Verma in a Feb. 14 letter.

The Trump administration has allowed three states — Arkansas, Kentucky and Indiana — to begin instituting Medicaid work requirements, and at least 10 other states have submitted or are preparing applications. More than 620,000 Native Americans live in those 13 states, according to 2014 Census data. And more states could move in that direction, heightening the impact.

Some states, like Arizona, are asking HHS for permission to exempt Native Americans from their proposed work requirements. But officials at the National Indian Health Board say that may be moot, as federal officials can reject state requests.

Tribal officials say their planning process has been complicated by HHS’ refusal to produce the actual documents detailing why Native Americans can’t be exempted from Medicaid work requirements. “The agency’s official response was that they couldn’t provide that [documentation] because of ongoing, unspecified litigation,” said Devin Delrow of the National Indian Health Board. HHS did not respond to a question about why those documents have not been made available.

While the tribes say they hope to avoid a legal fight, their go-to law firm — Hobbs, Straus, Dean & Walker LLP — in February submitted a 33-page memo to the Trump administration, sternly warning officials that the health agency was violating its responsibilities.

“CMS has a duty to ensure that [Native Americans] are not subjected to state-imposed work requirements that would present a barrier to their participation in the Medicaid program,” the memo concludes. “CMS not only has ample legal authority to make such accommodations, it has a duty to require them.”

Meanwhile, tribal leaders say the Trump administration has signaled it may be seeking to renegotiate other aspects of the government’s relationship with Native Americans’ health care, pointing to a series of interactions they say break from tradition.

“This doesn’t seem to be isolated to the work requirements,” said McCarron Shuy of the National Indian Health Board.

The Trump administration also targeted the Indian Health Service for significant cuts in last year’s budget, though Congress ignored those cuts in its omnibus funding package last month, H.R. 1625 (115). The White House budget this year proposed eliminating popular initiatives like the decades-old community health representative program — even though tribal health officials say it is essential.

Tribal officials noted that both HHS Secretary Alex Azar and Deputy Secretary Eric Hargan skipped HHS’ annual budget consultation with tribal leaders in Washington, D.C., last month. The secretary’s attendance is customary; then-HHS Secretary Tom Price joined last year. However, Azar canceled at the last minute. His scheduled replacement, Hargan, fell ill, so Associate Deputy Secretary Laura Caliguri participated in his place. That aggravated tribal leaders who were already concerned about the Trump administration’s policies.

Another point of contention for the tribes is that HHS’ civil rights office — while rejecting Native Americans’ Medicaid request on grounds that they’re seeking an illegal preference — simultaneously announced new protections sought by conservative religious groups.

HHS further stressed that the administration remains committed to Native Americans’ health.

“Secretary Azar, HHS, and the Trump administration have taken aggressive action and will continue to do so to improve the health and well-being for all American Indians and Alaska Natives,” according Oakley, of HHS.

But tribal leaders and public health experts say the administration’s record hasn’t matched its rhetoric. “Work requirements will be devastating,” said Smith, the former Indian Health Service acting director. “I don’t know how you would implement it. There are not jobs to be had on the reservation.”

#native american #politics #government #donald trump #trump #gop #republican #treaty rights

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samanthassandcastle · 6 years ago

Text

13 Tips For Making Your Semester Just a bit Easier

Why hello there. I'm a graduate, which is super scary to say. I also am a perpetual student and as someone with mental illnesses, school can be hard. I mean, it's hard for a lot of reasons, lets be real. It can also be a wonderful experience. Below, I've listed 13 of my personal methods of helping my year be just a bit easier. Will they work for you? Maybe. I can't possibly know that, only you can. Bear that in mind. If you know something wouldn't work for you, ignore it. There's no harm in that. :)

Read the effing syllabus

No lie. Every single class I had at my last university had a quiz on the syllabus during the first week. They’re incredibly important because they typically have a calendar of assignments, tell you when you’re going to be doing things, give you policy information, have a grading breakdown, and have all of the required materials, not to mention your class and professor information.

Plan your semester

After you get all your syllabi, make a master calendar. I got one of the monthly calendars from the target dollar spot, or really anywhere like amazon, staples, office depot, etsy, target, etc. I personally used bullet journaling and created my own planner. I went over the top and color coded the classes, but you can simply put the class and the assignment on the date it’s due. This helps make sure you always know what’s coming and aren’t blind sighted when it comes due. You don’t even have to do it in a paper planner. One of my classmates scheduled reminders on her iPhone on the due dates. She said it took forever, but she liked it.

seek out accommodations

This may not be as obvious, but is tremendously important. my second semester I was taking six classes in the same department and just all happened to have projects due around the same time. I was having an incredibly hard time keeping up because I have severe anxiety and would become overwhelmed incredibly easily. I couldn’t take any less classes because my major courses were on cycles and that was the only time they were offered and I had a specific time frame to finish, so don’t start with that. My point is that when I realized that it was becoming an issue, I spoke to my school’s disability services and received accommodations from my professors. It’s contractual, and they cannot ask what the disability is, and they’re required to uphold whatever you and they agree on. I was allowed more free absences than the “unpenalized” ones, and a leniency with due dates, provided I let the prof know what was going on, generally. I always said that I was having a “flare up” because that’s not violating my privacy, but still allowed the prof to understand that I was having an issue. Most schools don’t require formal documentation from a doctor, but I had it, so I provided it. Some even are very lenient, and will have the on campus health services help you out too.

don’t be afraid of being less than perfect

I went into school telling myself that I was going to be on the deans list, have a 4.0, and have all of the regalia when I graduated. That didn’t happen. What did happen was that I had 95 units in five semesters. Yes, that averages 19 a semester, but the way I did it was hell. First semester I had 5 classes- 18 units, second semester I had 5 classes, band, and lessons - 21 units, the six week summer I had 4 classes, one of which was a one on one which I will talk about later - 15 units, my last fall semester was 6 classes and band - 23 units, and my final semester was 5 classes and band - 18 units. Needless to say there was no way I was getting that 4.0. What did happen was I joined an honor society, was on the editing staff for the literary journal, got two articles published in the school paper, was on the executive board for a national club, and commuted 45 minutes each way, every day and sometimes weekends, for two and a half years, and ended up with a 3.2. Not only that but I had regalia for my honor society and my club, and I set a precedent for future students and got an award at the end of year honor’s banquet. I don’t think that I did too shabby, and I don’t regret not getting that 4.0.

apparel matters but not how you think

We all know that the brain is weird. For instance, if I throw on leggings and a tee immediately when I wake up, my brain is in chill mode. This is why I rarely wore loungy clothes to school. I even dressed up on Fridays, calling it fancy Friday because I love alliterations. This tactic might help you stay in the correct brain space, or not. I don’t know how your brain works. I do know that someone looked into the relationship between clothes and mood, so it can't all be rubbish.

go to office hours

So many times I heard people complain because they don’t understand something, or that the prof is being too hard on them or other things, but there’s one thing that can help with that. Go to office hours. Your profs set them up for a reason. That’s where you can get help with assignments, clarification on things, or help in other academic things. They won’t bite you I promise. You may even grow an amazing academic relationship with them. My advisor was one of my profs. She is a very intimidating woman in the classroom but a completely different prof in her office. In speaking to her about my graduation plans and needs and such she did the amazing thing of teaching me a one on one, honors, independent study, of one of the classes that she teaches that was out of cycle, so that I would be able to graduate on time. Granted, cramming an entire semester of books to read into six weeks of once a week sessions was INSANE, but it was one of my favorite classes, and an amazing thing that she did for me.

take advantage of free things

Free things are literally the best, amirite? Go to the events because they typically have free food. My school, around midterms and finals had free test taking kits with pencils and test booklets. I believe that there were a ton of free events and things for residents, but I lived off campus and commuted a long time, so I rarely did things. I did however, get a free shirt at nearly every event I went to, and got a sweet tumbler just before I graduated.

seek out associations and clubs

I am a(n inactive) member of the Phi Alpha Theta honor society because of my grades in my history courses and an alumnae of the Kappa Phi Club which is a national Christian sisterhood similar to traditional Greek life, but founded on different ideals and values. -I could go on and on about Kappa Phi, so don't get me started. :)- Both of these organizations can be started at your school if they aren't already available. By seeking out associations and clubs and the like, there are innumerable opportunities for you. As a member of PAT I have scholarship opportunities for grad school and Kappa Phi has given me amazing friendships to women across the country and will grant me leadership opportunities in the future.

don't be afraid to talk to professors like they’re real people

News flash: they are. They have feelings. I adopted a kitten from one of my profs, and I’ve babysat his children. I formed a close enough friendship with a different prof to be able to write his end of semester evaluation in emojis, which ended up in his tenure package. With forming relationships with your profs, they are able to know more about who you are and will be able to write you amazing letters of recommendation in the future.

mental health days are important

As part of my accommodations, I was given a leniency with attendance and I was able to take mental health days. I didn’t take a lot, maybe on average three a semester, but they helped me so much that if I hadn’t taken them, I would have fallen behind in my work. Your mental health is so important in school. Please don’t mentally drain yourself so that you can achieve “perfection.”

do more early on in the semester

This may seem like a silly thing, but it helps in the long run. After you go through your syllabus, take a look at things that look like they’re easy to do, or wouldn’t take long and do them the first couple weeks. Sometimes, if it’s an online submission, you can even submit it early and not have to deal with it. I did that for one of my senior projects and was incredibly happy that I did. While all of my classmates were struggling or hadn’t even started the couple weeks before it was due, I had mine finished and was just waiting to turn it in. That took the load from 5 senior projects to do to 4, and with them all due the same week it was a tremendous help.

be aware of your spending

$4 here and there at the coffee shop or quick mart on your campus may seem like nothing, but it adds up. I realized one semester that I had spent nearly $100 in one month just on coffee, which I could easily make at home, so that’s what I did. I made coffee at home and sometimes lunch and was able to keep better track on my spending.

noms are important

Sometimes it’s hard to make the cafeteria hours for meals, especially if you’re an athlete with practice during the meal times. This is why snacks are super important, or quick meals that you can make at home or in your dorm. During the summer my class started before the coffee shop opened so I couldn’t grab food there, so I started making overnight oats. I took a mason jar and filled it about half way with dry quick oatmeal, put other things (my fave was peanut butter and jelly) inside it and filled it the rest of the way with almond milk or soy milk because ya girl can’t have dairy, then put the lid on and popped it in the fridge before bed, and in the morning I had breakfast to eat in class.

There you have it. Easy peasy, right? Duh. I hope something here helped you, and if it did, let me know. If you have any to add, also let me know. I wish you the best of luck with your semester and the rest of your year!

xoxo s

#school #tips #wiifm #university #semester #back to school

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imagineteamfreewill · 7 years ago

Text

Dancing is Better

Title: Dancing is Better

Pairing: Reader x Dean

Word Count: 4,184

Theme Song: Can I Have This Dance? (from High School Musical)

Summary: You love to dance, and Dean knows that. So, he decides to make sure that you always have a chance to dance, especially with him.

A/N: This song is SO perfect for the reader and Dean (or Dean in any other pairing you can imagine), and I highly recommend that you listen to it after/during your reading of this story! Please leave feedback, and enjoy!

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______________

“Dean, this is ridiculous,” you sighed. “I can’t dance, and I’m not even dressed to go dancing.”

Dean glanced over at you from the driver’s seat. “Oh come on, Y/N. You told me that you wanted to go dancing sometime, and there’s a place in this town that’s supposed to have some kind of dancing thing on Thursday nights. Plus, Sam’s gonna be at some… some documentary thing or whatever all night, so we’re free to do whatever we want!”

After a moment you sighed and slumped down in your seat. “I guess you’re right. Can we at least stop at the motel so I can put on a clean shirt before we go? We’ve been driving for over twenty-four hours and I feel disgusting.”

“Alright,” Dean agreed. He turned the Impala into the first motel lot you came to. “I’ll get the room and then wait in the car for you?”

You nodded in response, then climbed out after Dean had pulled into a spot. He climbed out on his side and headed into the motel office, leaving you to grab your bags from the back of the car. You were just closing the trunk when Dean finally emerged from the office, waving the key cards in the air.

“Hey! I got us two rooms!” he called.

“You mean to tell me that we have a whole room to ourselves? We don’t have to share with your little brother?” you asked, smiling wide. Dean grinned and nodded, kissing your cheek as he reached to take his bag from you. “You wonderful man, you! I could just kiss you!”

“Why don’t you?” Dean teased.

Laughing, you leaned in and kissed him on the lips, pulling away after only a second. “C’mon you, let’s get changed and then head out before I decide I’m too tired for this,” you grinned.

Dean rolled his eyes, then started walking toward the long line of doors under the motel awning. He finally stopped in front of the farthest door and unlocked it, pushing it open so that you could walk in first.

The room was not unlike any of the others that you’d slept in, but you immediately sighed and gave Dean a wide smile when you felt the cool air hit your skin.

“Air conditioning,” you moaned. “This is beautiful. You are a beautiful, beautiful man, Dean Winchester.”

Dean laughed in response and moved past you to set his bag down on the far side of the queen-size bed. After reveling in the air conditioning a moment longer, you shut the front door behind you and followed his lead, setting your own bag down on the opposite side of the bed. He was already shedding his flannel and pulling his sweat-drenched black tee over his head by the time you’d even found the shirt that you wanted to wear, and you couldn’t help but smile when you looked up and were met by the sight of his tanned stomach. A giggle escaped your lips when you saw the small amount of pudge that rested there. You laughed a little more when you saw the annoyed look that Dean was giving you. He hurriedly tugged his clean shirt down to cover his stomach, making you smile wider.

“What? I love your tummy, Dean! It’s cute! It makes me happy,” you grinned.

Dean rolled his eyes, trying to hide a smile of his own, then tossed his dirty flannel at you so he could grab a clean one. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t be a sap. You almost ready to go?”

Nodding, you quickly stripped off your shirt and pulled the clean one on. You ignored the wolfish look in Dean’s eyes as you kneeled down to slip off your gym shoes. He’s insatiable, you thought as you slipped your feet into the comfortable combat boots you’d picked up on the last hunt the two of you had been on. We’ll probably dance for a half hour and then he’ll want to come back here and do a whole other kind of dancing.

When you’d finally finished lacing up the boots, you met Dean’s eyes and raised your eyebrows, letting out a sigh. “Well, I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

It only took Dean a heartbeat before he was racing around to your side of the bed and grabbing your hand. He pulled you behind him out to the Impala—practically yanking your arm out of its socket in the process—and less than a minute later the two of you were speeding out of the parking lot.

“Dean!” you laughed, shaking your head in amazement as you looked over at him. He was smiling from ear to ear, and you couldn’t help but feel a little giddy yourself when you realized just how excited he was to make you happy.

“Sorry babe,” Dean grinned, not sounding a bit apologetic at all, “I just can’t wait to get out there with you. I mean, I can’t dance, but I can’t wait to see you dance.”

“You know this isn’t normal club dancing, right?” you teased. “It’s swing dancing. There’s a difference. And besides, I told you I can’t dance.”

Dean glanced over at you and chuckled, then went back to watching the road, his smile never fading. Clearly, he didn’t need any clarification or what swing dancing entailed—that, or he just wasn’t interested in knowing what the difference was—because he didn’t ask any questions, nor did he speak for the rest of the drive.

By the time you’d reached the small hole-in-the-wall building on the outskirts of town, Dean’s excitement had passed onto you, and you were smiling just as wide as he was. The two of you climbed out of the car the moment the engine shut off, then began the short walk across the crowded gravel lot to the main entrance. You could hear the music from yards away. Dean gave you an excited look as you slipped your hand into his and squeezed.

Once inside, you and Dean met each other’s eyes, and you could tell that he was thinking the same thing that you were: I have no idea how to dance like that. Squeezing his hand once more, you made a beeline for the bar and ordered two shots, one for each of you.

“God,” you groaned, wrinkling your nose as the alcohol burned your throat on the way down, “I think I might need a few more of these before I’m even ready to go take one of those lessons.” You jerked your head toward the group of couples off to the side of the dance floor that was following the lead of a woman in a bright purple dress. All the club staff—instructors, bartenders, and musicians included—seemed to be wearing the same bright purple, and you quickly spotted another instructor on the other side of the room. She was beckoning people over to join her quick beginner’s lesson before the next song began.

You turned to the bar and ordered two more shots. After you and Dean had downed them, you grabbed his hand and led him through the crowds to the instructor.

“Do you have room for two more over here?” you asked, making sure you were loud enough to be heard over the roaring swing music. The instructor nodded and gave you a bright smile, gesturing the two of you over to the far corner of her group. You and Dean quickly took your places.

“Alright, just follow my lead! And remember, if you get lost, the man leads this particular kind of dance!” the woman called as the song began to change. She turned to her partner and you did the same, letting Dean take your hand as you placed your other on his shoulder. He gave you a cheesy grin before beginning to move in time with the music, and you quickly realized that Dean had been lying the whole time; he knew how to dance, and from what you could tell, he was better than most of the people you could see.

“Dean Winchester!” you cried, pausing to let him twirl you. “You’re a liar! You’ve done this before!”

Dean only smirked at that, mischief twinkling in his eyes as he dipped you low, causing you to squeal. When he brought you back up again, you gripped the edges of his soft flannel. Dean laughed, pecking your cheek before reaching up to loosen your grip on him.

“You’re fine, Y/N. I got you. I’m not gonna let you fall. Now come on, let’s get out there and dance till our feet fall off. We’re not leaving until you admit that you actually can dance.”

_______________

You and Dean had been carrying boxes inside the house for hours now. Even though Sam had been helping before he’d left to go pick up something for dinner, the trailer was still half-full and you couldn’t imagine what your back would feel like by the time everything was inside.

Groaning, you plopped down on the couch and closed your eyes, trying to ignore just how great it felt to finally be off your feet. You were just about to consider getting up again to get something to drink when the sound of the screen door creaking open and then slamming shut again alerted you to Dean’s presence.

“I’m never getting up,” you moaned, not bothering to open your eyes and look at him. “My feet are killing me and I’m tired and thirsty.”

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, well, that’s the price of getting out of the life, sweetheart.”

The couch dipped next to you, and you immediately flopped onto your side so that your head was in Dean’s lap. After a moment, you felt him stroke your hair with one hand, and you hummed in contentment.

“I suppose it’s a price I can afford,” you murmured. “After all, the two of us are splitting the cost, right?”

“Right.”

He sounds so happy and normal, you thought as Dean’s cell phone rang.

“Hello?” he asked. Dean was silent for a moment as the person on the other end of the call began to talk. “Okay. Nah, don’t worry about it. We can just order a pizza. Yeah, I’m sure, Sammy. You have a good time. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Turning onto your back, you opened your eyes to look up at him. “Where’s Sam going?” you asked after Dean had ended the call.

“Turns out he knows the waitress at the diner. He’s gonna take her out for drinks when her shift ends in a half hour,” Dean told you. His eyes sparkled with amusement and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Sounds like you just got something else to tease him about,” you laughed. Dean grinned. “Well, don’t tease him too hard. We still need him to come back over tomorrow and help us with all this crap. I forgot how much stuff you need to fill up a house.”

A home.

Dean smiled and leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. You stopped him before he could, then guided his lips to yours so you could kiss him properly. The two of you kissed for a long time, and when you finally separated to catch your breath, you could tell that Dean was just as done with bringing things inside as you were.

“Let’s dance,” Dean breathed, his eyes locked with yours. “I miss dancing with you.

“Dance as in…” You trailed off, letting your question go unspoken.

Laughing, Dean straightened up and replied, “Actual dancing. Don’t get me wrong, sex is good too. Hell, sex is great! I mean, there’s no one else I’d rather have sex with besides you!”

You laughed and sat up, pressing a quick kiss to Dean’s cheek so he’d stop rambling. “But dancing is better?” you asked.

“Dancing is better.”

Still smiling, you stood and held out your hand for Dean to take. He slipped his hand into yours and stood, then pulled you into his arms, and after a moment, the two of you were dancing in the small open space of your new living room.

Dean kept his eyes locked on yours the whole time, and you felt as if looking away would break some unwritten rule, or maybe that it would break the spell and somehow you’d find yourself asleep in your bed back in the bunker. Living with Dean in a house of your very own had always been a pipedream of yours, and now that it was a reality, you didn’t want to risk losing it.

You were wrapped up in your thoughts when Dean twirled you out, causing you to lose your train of thought. Laughing, you twirled back into his arms.

“I love you. You know that?” you asked, smiling up at him.

Dean lifted his arm and let you twirl under it, then pulled you close so that your chest was against his. “I did,” he murmured.

“Do you love me back?”

“More than anything,” Dean replied.

You smiled wide at that and then rested your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes as the two of you swayed to the silent music. Dean’s arms around your waist held you closer than ever before, and somehow you couldn’t imagine being happier than you were at that very moment.

_______________

Four years later, you were holding your baby against your chest as Dean climbed into the driver’s seat of the Impala. His hunting bag was stashed in the trunk already and you’d made sure that the old cooler in the backseat was filled with water, beer, and a sandwich for the road. You knew he’d never eat it, but making it had given you something to do other than sit around and watch him pack. Tears filled your eyes as he lifted his hand in a wave, then backed out of the driveway and onto the street. You watched as the Impala disappeared around the curve of the road, and it felt as if your heart was breaking in two.

The feeling of someone tugging on the hem of your skirt made you look down.

“Mommy, when’s lunch?” Mary asked. Her little green eyes looked just like Dean’s, and you had to hold back a sob so you could give her a shaky, watery smile.

“Soon, baby girl,” you replied, smoothing your free hand over her head of light brown curls. Even her hair feels like Dean’s, you thought.

“Can I play with Charlie until then?”

“No, Mary. Charlie’s sleeping still, see?” You knelt down so that Mary could see the tiny baby in your arms. Charlie was barely six months old and you were ecstatic that your oldest was taken with her little sister, but you knew that putting your infant daughter down so that Mary could play near her would cause her to wake up. A crying baby was the last thing you needed right now, considering that all you wanted to do was cry yourself.

“Oh,” Mary said, her lower lip sticking out slightly as she tried to figure out what else she could do until you’d made her something to eat.

“Why don’t you go color a picture to give Daddy when he gets back?” you suggested.

Mary’s face lit up at the thought of having something to give her father. You’d barely gotten the words out before she was racing to the tiny playroom off the kitchen, and you watched as she pulled down her crayons and a few pieces of paper. A page fluttered to the floor, but she completely ignored it as she settled down at the small plastic table you’d bought a year after her birth.

Sighing, you stepped back inside the house and shut the front door behind you. The house is too quiet without Dean, you thought as you headed into the kitchen to make your daughter a sandwich. On the counter was the information for the hunt Dean had gone out on, and you quickly read through it as you pulled the peanut butter down from the cabinet.

“It’s just a quick one,” Dean had said when he’d brought it up the night before. “It’s only a rugaru. Sammy would take care of it himself, but Eileen is close to her due date and there’s no one else close enough to get rid of the thing before it hurts anyone else…”

You’d agreed only because Sam needed to be with his wife in case their baby came earlier than expected. You knew that Sam would have done the same for you, had Dean still been hunting while you were pregnant with Mary and Charlie.

Dean hadn’t gone on a hunt since the two of you had moved into your little house. You’d argued extensively with him about it, and in the end, he’d always agreed to stay completely out of the life, mostly because it put you and the girls at risk. Part of his reasoning was that it made you unhappy, but you knew that the majority of it was because he was determined to keep his three girls safe. Today, however, there hadn’t been another option, and as you went about making Mary’s lunch, you couldn’t help but feel that part of your heart had gone with him.

It took four days for Dean to return.

You were laying in bed and half-asleep when you felt the mattress dip behind you for the first time in days. Without hesitation, you pulled out the gun you’d been stashing underneath your pillow since Dean had left on the hunt. It was cocked and trained on the intruder in an instant. Your heart was pounding in your chest as you tried to see through the dark and assess whether you had to shoot, or whether you could get rid of the threat without waking your daughters.

“Whoa! Easy there, tiger.”

The sound of Dean’s voice made your whole body sag in relief. You hadn’t talked to him he’d left on the hunt, and now it felt like the entire world had been lifted off your shoulders.

“Dean,” you murmured.

“Yeah, baby. It’s me,” he replied. His voice was soft and soothing as he took the gun from you and clicked the safety on, then set it down on the nightstand. You felt him press a kiss to your forehead as he helped you lay down once more. He pulled the covers over both of you a moment later.

“I missed you,” you whispered as he guided you to rest your head on his chest.

“I bet I’ll missed you more.”

“It felt like…”

“Like what?” Dean asked. He began running his fingers through your hair as you searched for the words you wanted to say.

“Like my heart had been ripped out of my chest. Like you’d taken it with you and left me here alone,” you finally answered, your voice wobbling as all the emotions you’d been suppressing the past couple days came back in full-force. You hadn’t been able to cry in front of the girls—you and Dean had promised not to expose your daughters to any part of hunting, and you figured that if you cried, you’d have to explain to Mary why you were so afraid for Dean’s safety while he was gone—and now that Dean was back, all you wanted to do was be held.

“Y/N, why didn’t you say something before I left? If you hadn’t wanted to me to go, I could’ve asked someone to go instead of me. It wouldn’t have been that hard—”

You shook your head. “More people would have died.” Tears began to flow at the thought of the danger Dean had faced, and you heard him let out a sad sigh when he realized you were crying.

“I’m not going to hunt anymore, Y/N. I promise. This was a one-time thing.”

“And the next time Sam can’t go? What then?” you cried, trying to keep quiet so Mary wouldn’t wake. Her room was on the other side of the wall, and you didn’t want her to see you upset. She would only ask questions to which you never wanted to give her the answers.

Dean didn’t respond. Instead, he just held you and let you cry. When your cries finally subsided, he slipped away from you and got to his feet.

“Where are you going?” you sniffled. You looked up at him with big wet eyes, feeling a bit hurt that he’d leave you right after you’d confessed how upset you were that he’d gone on the hunt.

He didn’t reply as he shed his jacket and draped it over the back of your desk chair, then pulled off his socks.

“Dean, what are you doing?” you asked, now feeling more desperate as you sat up and pushed off the covers. What’s he doing? Why doesn’t he just come back to bed?

Finally, Dean came over to your side of the bed and took your hands in his. “Can I have this dance?” he asked. His voice was still soft, and you blinked in confusion.

“You’re… asking me to dance? Now?”

He nodded.

After a moment, you carefully got to your feet, letting Dean keep you steady as you unfolded your legs from underneath you. Once you were standing, he placed one hand on your waist, then held your hand with the other.

“Dean, I’m not really in the mood for this…”

“Just take a breath, Y/N. Relax and dance with me,” he replied.

Slowly, you nodded and inhaled, then exhaled just as slow. You felt the tension in shoulders relax as you did, and after a moment you placed your free hand on Dean’s shoulder to show him that you were ready to go.

Dean took a step, guiding you as he moved, and began to hum quietly. You recognized the song almost immediately, and a small smile formed on your lips as you realized that at some point during the hunt he’d been listening to the mixtape you’d made him after the two of you had first started dating.

“No matter where I am, whether it’s a hunt or a visit to see Sam, I am always back here, dancing with you, Y/N. Always.”

“No chick-flick moments, Dean,” you whispered, laughing a little as he turned and moved around the end of the bed with you.

“I’m making an exception,” Dean replied with a smile. “I love you more than ever, and I couldn’t stop thinking about you the whole time I was gone. All I could think about was getting back here and dancing with you like we did on our first day in the house.”

“I’m pretty sure we danced in the living room then,” you told him.

“Yeah, well, I’m not really in the mood to dance on top of Legos. I know that I’m a big, tough hunter, but I’m not that tough.”

You laughed and looked up at him, feeling a thousand times better now. “I’ll keep the Legos in mind for the next time I’m mad at you.”

Dean smiled and rolled his eyes, then leaned down to kiss you softly on the lips. When he pulled away, he stayed close enough for you to see the freckles scattered across his nose, even in the dim light that came in from the window, and you couldn’t help but feel like Chuck had been feeling incredibly generous when he decided that you and Dean would end up together.

“Dean?” you whispered. He hummed in response, his eyes flicking between your eyes and your lips. “Do you think that other couples feel this way when they’re together? This happy? Or did we just get lucky?”

It took him a moment to respond. “We got lucky.”

“Why do you say that?”

A smile formed on Dean’s lips, and he leaned forward to kiss you again before he replied, “Because I got a girl who makes me feel safe. I got a girl who made the most beautiful daughters in the world, and who’s tough as hell. I got a girl who’s beautiful and smart and funny, and I got a girl who can dance.”

You giggled. “By dance, do you mean this kind of dancing or the other kind of dancing?”

Dean’s smile turned into a sly grin. Excitement bubbled up in you when his eyes flicked down to look at the thin pajamas you were wearing. “Both,” he replied.

Before you could reply, Dean had grabbed you by the waist with both hands and tossed you back on the bed. A loud squeal escaped your lips and you clapped a hand over your mouth. Dean froze as the two of you listened in anticipation of the sound of tiny footsteps coming from Mary’s room. When it didn’t come, Dean stalked toward the bed, a predatory look in his eye, and you couldn’t help but smile wide when you realized Dean was planning on showing exactly how much he actually missed you on the hunt.

_______________

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Dean: @lipstickandwhiskey @itsemmyb @ezauraemmaline @beriala @charliesbackbitches @crzcorgi @ellen-reincarnated1967 @gryffindorable713 @walkingencyclopediaoffandom @growleytria @thegleegeneration @samtomydeanwinchester @treble-maker95 @sis-tafics @fandommaniacx @meganwinchester1999 @samanddeanwinchester67 @ferferelli @iridianuniverse @the-morning-star-falls @ackleslaugh @fangirling-instead-of-working @hellbentcrowley @eyes-of-a-disney-princess @torn-and-frayed @spnsimpleman @faith-in-dean @mamaimpala @winchesterfiesta @pada-ackles-reads @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @gadreelsforbiddenfruit @curliesallovertheplace @jencharlan @thebunkerismyhome @beachy2014 @fandom-book-nerd @shipping-people-writing-things @tia58 @sams-little-toy @sunriserose1023 @dr-dean @saving-things-hunting-family @winchesterswoonathon @a-closet-full-of-skeletons @ruprecht0420 @thegoodhunterrr5 @jotink78 @lucifer-in-leather @i-dont-know-how-to-write @deantbh @babypieandwhiskey @waywardjoy @whywhydoyouwantmetosaymyname @spn-fan-girl-173 @samsgoddess @thegreatficmaster @megansescape @faegal04 @everyday-supernatural-af @wevegotworktodo @deerlululucy @supermoonpanda @sleep-silent-angel @trenchcoats-and-bees @not-so-natural-spn @shelovesallthethings @memariana91 @chelsea-winchester @revwinchester @supernaturalyobessed @matteson-crazed @allonsy-yesiwlill @akshi8278 @donnaintx @iwrotemyownending @quiddy-writes @lavieenlex @winchesterseeker @crazysocklovingfangirl @love-me-some-pie21 @naturegirl70 @its-not-a-tulpa

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96thdayofrage · 4 years ago

Photo

In September the Reader was alerted to two complaints, one filed with the city's Commission on Human Relations and the other with the Illinois Department of Human Rights, detailing discrimination and racist statements made by high-level managers at Pangea, one of Chicago's biggest corporate landlords. Until the start of the coronavirus pandemic, the company was the city's most prolific filer of eviction cases. Its apartment holdings are concentrated largely in Black neighborhoods on the south and west sides of the city and in nearby suburbs, now totaling 9,400 units in 492 buildings. The company also has several thousand more units in Indianapolis and Baltimore.

The complaints were filed by Armando Magana, 45, the chief maintenance supervisor at Pangea in Chicago who'd been with the company since 2010. He's worked in various roles and received promotions and bonuses, most recently in February, Magana writes. "Notwithstanding my exceptional performance, Pangea has repeatedly discriminated against me because of my Hispanic ethnicity and my Mexican national origin. Throughout my employment, Pangea has also subjected me to a hostile work environment based on numerous derisive and derogatory statements made by Pangea's managers and executives regarding my ethnicity and national origin."

Magana's complaint includes several examples of such statements from vice president of operations Derek Reich and CEO Pete Martay. He claims that in 2017 Reich "told me that I should avoid being seen working with an African-American work colleague if I did not want to be viewed in the same way as that 'lazy nigger.'"

Magana details two occasions in 2018 when Reich "suggested hiring 'illegals' because they will accept less compensation," and resisted Magana's recommendations for which employees should get raises, allegedly saying, "'aren't these guys illegal?'"

Further in the complaints he recounts a 2019 meeting in which management for a newly acquired building near Loyola University on the north side was allegedly discussed. "My African American colleague asked, 'who will be managing the building,' to which Mr. Reich responded, 'they've never seen a Regional Manager of your kind in that area.' I asked about getting access to the roof top, to which Mr. Martay stated, 'Yeah I can imagine Armando showing up with his trash can and saying "Hello I'm Armando, the janitor here to clean up after you."'"

Later that year, Magana alleges he "met with Mr. Reich at a property that Pangea had recently begun to manage. During a discussion regarding employee staff assignments, Mr. Reich remarked that 'Mexicans are for custodial and maintenance, Blacks for property management, and Whites for the back office, that's it.'" The following month Magana alleges that Martay said to him, in front of other employees, "I should make you pull your fucking tools back out and make you clean shit out of the fucking tubs, like you used to."

Magana writes that he reported Martay's "derogatory comments" to Reich and both supervisors' comments to Pangea's HR manager Lori Bysong as well as the company's CFO Patrick Borchard and cofounder and former CEO Steve Joung. "Mr. Joung listened to me, then responded by saying that he doubted workplace discrimination was occurring."

Magana claims in the complaint that at the end of 2019 he also had a conversation with Pangea's operations manager Sean McQuade about hiring and pay for new workers, requesting $22/hour for one of them. "Mr. McQuade responded by asking 'Do you know if he's illegal? Do you think he has papers? . . . Do you think this guy is worth $22/hour?'" Again, Magana claims he reported these comments to HR, Pangea's in-house attorney Jennifer Dean, and other supervisors.

"Despite having complained on multiple occasions directly to multiple members of Pangea management, no one at the Company ever responded to, investigated, or otherwise communicated with me regarding my several complaints," Magana writes. "Rather, Mr. Reich continues to make derogatory, discriminatory comments toward me. Specifically, on May 12, 2020, Mr. Reich called me and stated, 'stop treating me like a shine. Last time I checked I was white.'"

In both an internal e-mail obtained by the Reader and in an e-mailed statement from CEO Pete Martay, Pangea has denied Magana's allegations and said he's refused to cooperate in the company's internal efforts to investigate.

"Pangea Properties has zero tolerance for racist or discriminatory behavior," Martay wrote to the Reader. "We take allegations of this nature very seriously. As a result, we hired a neutral investigator to carry out a prompt and thorough investigation and have also engaged legal representation to defend the company against allegations we believe are baseless. The complainant and his witnesses have refused multiple requests to participate in our investigation."

The Reader also presented the company with an opportunity to respond to additional allegations made by ten other current and former employees about Pangea's corporate culture. These included vivid descriptions of demeaning statements by Reich and other supervisors, as well as allegations of segregated and demeaning working conditions. "We categorically deny the claims in the complaint and also the statements made against us by former employees," wrote Martay. Neither Reich nor McQuade, whose conduct Magana also referenced in his complaint, responded to a request for comment.

Hostile work environments are both ubiquitous and difficult to reform. Their toxicity can be hard to pin down and prove on paper, especially when corporate promotions and official praise are interspersed with interpersonal disrespect and disregard. As a reckoning over the prejudices endemic to white-dominated workplaces roils the private and public sectors, employees of color from businesses and institutions as varied as Adidas, LinkedIn, Vogue, the San Francisco health department, and Loyola University have begun speaking out about the racial microaggressions, gaslighting, and harassment that defines office culture for them.

Even as he received glowing performance reviews, Magana could also feel hostility from management. For example, in an August 2013 e-mail obtained by the Reader, Reich wrote a brief note to another regional manager. The subject line read, "Armando was excited about converting to Islam . . . " and inside the body of the e-mail the sentence ended " . . . Until he found out you can't eat pork." Attached was a photo of Magana, grinning, in a little white hat reminiscent of a kufi skull cap.

When asked about the e-mail Magana said he was dismayed at being the target of a crude joke that appeared to be both Islamophobic and about his weight. "I never thought he was gonna take a picture and send it," he said with a grim chuckle as we looked at the image over beers at the nearly deserted patio of the Promontory in Hyde Park. Magana wore a black valve mask and a short sleeve blue polo, apparently unbothered by the biting gusts of wind on that late September afternoon. As he stared at the photo he said the fact that it had been e-mailed was unusual; in his experience Reich rarely left a paper trail of demeaning comments. "It was always phone calls with Derek," Magana said. "He really doesn't like to put anything in e-mail. If you send him an e-mail, he'll call. If you meet him in the field, he'll make those comments."

As documented in his complaints, Magana attempted to have the "discriminatory communications and behavior" he experienced addressed internally, but complaints to HR and leaders of the company didn't help. Finally he started working with attorney Marc Siegel to appeal to external authorities to intervene. The company soon also hired an outside attorney to help handle the situation.

Pangea's lawyers "kept telling [Siegel] that I was exaggerating and they always treated me good and they weren't being racist toward me," Magana told the Reader. "Long story short, I told my attorney I'm not gonna play this game, I'm gonna file this with the state and city and I'm gonna make it public."

By late spring the stress of working at Pangea had intensified due to the coronavirus pandemic. "I broke down because when the COVID started Derek was just calling me every other day, every other day: 'What are you doing?' I'd say 'We're working . . . but we don't have any sanitizing supplies. We don't have masks.'"

Magana said Pangea didn't offer hazard pay. Some field employees took time off because they were scared to go back into the apartment buildings, especially when word got around that tenants were falling ill. Magana says Reich didn't seem to care. "It was like, 'All these guys need to come back to work.' I'm like, 'Derek we're all working, there's some people who took off because they're scared.'"

Magana said that Reich demanded that he choose five of his staff to fire as part of a company effort to reduce the employee headcount to below 500 so that Pangea could qualify for a Paycheck Protection Program loan from the federal government.

He said that in late March Reich called him. "He says, 'You got any shitty people working for you? Give me five.' I'm like, 'I don't have any shitty people working for me.' He's like, 'Well, give me five.'"

The Reader obtained an e-mail Magana sent to Reich the next day, listing four employees who changed positions in the company without being replaced and one who was about to leave Pangea anyway. "There's your four plus one, he's already out the door," Magana recalled thinking. He said that after that he got another phone call from Reich who demanded he name five additional people to fire because Pangea's employee count was at 512.

Magana said he submitted another list of names. "I was destroyed about that," he said. According to records released by the Small Business Administration in July, Pangea was awarded a $5-$10 million loan through the PPP program. They listed an employee count of 494.

By June, Magana needed a break. The stress of the job was getting to him and affecting his family, and he took a leave of absence for a month and a half. "I got kind of depressed, stressed out, I was trying to take care of my health," he said. "I found out my son was depressed, so I had to dedicate myself to him."

Magana said things got worse for him at Pangea after he came back to work in July. There were sudden extra meetings where he was questioned about his work. He felt increasingly micromanaged.

Nevertheless, Magana was still determined to continue working at the company, where he was making $115,000 in salary, got bonuses, and to which he'd devoted a decade of his life. "I'm happy where I'm at, I'm good at what I do, I've done nothing wrong," he said.

Word about Magana's complaint began to get out at Pangea, and e-mails from pseudonymised accounts suddenly appeared in all field employees' inboxes, sharing Magana's complaints and encouraging them to file their own. The company quickly deleted these e-mails from employees' inboxes, however. In a September 30 e-mail to all field employees obtained by the Reader, Martay acknowledged that deletion, adding that the "current employee" who complained about mistreatment "refused to cooperate and will not speak to the independent investigator" Pangea hired to look into the allegations. Though Martay didn't refer to Magana by name in this e-mail, Magana says he felt the CEO's message was meant to undermine him. "We categorically deny the claims made in the complaint and have engaged legal representation to defend the company against them," Martay wrote.

By the beginning of October, Magana felt he could no longer remain at Pangea. "I cannot continue to work under hostile environment with retaliation," he wrote to me in a text message. Though he technically resigned from his job himself, his attorney argues that he was "constructively discharged" by management because of the "discrimination and harassment and retaliation he faced at work."

According to legal precedent established by the U.S. Supreme Court in the 2006 Burlington Northern & Santa Fe Railway Co. v. White decision, the definition of retaliation for complaints about workplace discrimination is broad. "It could be making your work life more difficult. It could be micromanaging you. It could be icing you out—anything that could make a reasonable person feel dissuaded from bringing a complaint," said Siegel. "It doesn't have to be a termination or written suspension."

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quiddy-writes · 7 years ago

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Fifty Shades of Fucked Up

So, this is what happens when @kayteonline , @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid , and I have a group chat. And then Kayte sends me this. What was I supposed to do?! @saxxxology is sad that she wasn't in the group chat, but she was in England without us, so fuck her.

Fandom: Supernatural Pairing: AU!Dean x Reader Words: 960ish Summary: Dean Winchester has some very singular kinks Warnings: Swearing; hardcore kinkshaming; making a lot of fun of 50 Shades of Grey because I hate it; cum shampoo (mentioned); one character talking frankly about their sexual kinks and it going just…oh goodness, awesome for everyone involved

Dean Winchester was the most eligible bachelor in the entire world. One of the richest men on the planet, regularly topping Forbes’ Top 100 Most Influential People, and unfairly gorgeous to boot, any woman in her right mind would be at the very least moist if he was within sight.

Even Y/N was not immune.

When she’d fallen face first into his office for an interview like she was a damsel in a terrible romance novel, her panties were ruined. Then he began answering her terrible questions, and he actually seemed to be flirting with her.

She was an average-looking English student who, for some reason, didn’t understand how early twenty-somethings worked, almost like she was written by a housewife who still called it “The Facebook.”

With almost no real personality and looking more like a mouse than a human, why on earth would Dean fucking Winchester be interested in her?

It made absolutely no sense.

But, here they were, in his stupidly amazing loft, furiously making out. He had her pinned against the wall, using every glorious inch of his broad, toned body to hold her down. She couldn't escape even if she tried and, though that should've terrified her because he was definitely a sociopath, it instead went right to her panties. She had to press her thighs together to alleviate some of the burning desire curling up inside her.

His plush lips kissed and nipped at every inch of skin he found, going from her lips to her jaw to her neck and ever downwards. She tugged at his tie, snatching it from his neck.

That seemed to snap him out of his reverie, and he pulled back just enough to remain close to her, but far enough that she couldn’t recapture his lips with her own. “Wait,” he said breathlessly.

“Why?” she whimpered.

“There’s something you should know about me.”

Immediately, her thoughts went to the worst place. “Oh god, you have herpes, don’t you?”

“What?” he frowned, his perfect face marred by his confusion. “No, I’m clean. I’m not—I always use protection.”

“Oh, okay. Good. Awesome.”

“No,” he started again. “My desires are…unconventional.”

“So show me,” Y/N whispered.

With that, Dean took her hand and led him down the halls of his loft. He didn’t stop until they reached the end of the hall, turning his deep emerald eyes to her, as though he wasn’t sure she was still following him. She responded by squeezing his hand, lightly. She even smiled softly, like she was trying to comfort him, though she was nervous as all hell herself at the moment.

He pushed the door open slowly, revealing the master bedroom. It was gorgeous, full of modern furniture swatched in shades of grey. She was pulled past the bed towards a non-descript, slightly open white door on the other end of the large room.

He opened it to reveal a lavish bathroom, with a luxury glass shower and even a bath tub with jets inside it. Y/N melted just at looking the gorgeous room.

Dean finally pulled her to the shower, only letting go of her hand once they were at the door. He leaned in, grabbing a plain bottle from the bottom of the shower. She frowned, taking the bottle when it was handed to her, but mostly just looking as confused as she felt. “What is this?”

“It’s a shampoo bottle.”

There was a pause as she tried to figure out what the hidden meaning was. “Okay…”

She refused to look at him, but she could feel his gaze practically burning through her hand where she held the bottle. “I like to have sex, then finish in the girl’s hair. Then I have to watch her use my cum as shampoo.”

The sentence had barely left his lips before Y/N was at the toilet, vomiting up every single thing she’d ever eaten in her entire life. She was pretty sure she saw her ninth birthday cake make an appearance.

Dean waited by the shower as she vomited, shifting his feet awkwardly.

When Y/N finally was done worshipping the porcelain God, she turned to Dean.

“That is the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s just—”

“No, no!” she shouted. “Don’t say it, I’ll throw up again.”

“I really think you’re acting childish.”

“And I think you’re a sick fuck,” she retorted, pushing herself up on wobbly knees. “I am so out of here.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, no way are you hot enough for this shit.”

“I’m handsome, I’m rich, and—”

“And a sick fuck,” she breezed right past him.

Dean sputtered for a moment, unsure how exactly this was happening to him. After a beat of silence, he ran after her, chasing her to his combination front door/elevator.

She was inside, viciously attacking the lobby button, and he barely made it in time.

“Please,” he began, looking like a kicked puppy. “Please don’t go.”

“No,” she shook her head almost violently. “No, you are not rich or hot or anything enough for-for…God, you’re a pervert.”

“I really don’t—it’s really not that bad.”

“‘Not that bad?!’” Y/N screeched loud enough to almost break the glass wall that gave a spectacular view of the city below them. “You want me to wash—and I use that term very loosely—my hair in your semen?!”

“Well, you have to understand, my mother—”

“No, just because something shitty happened to you doesn’t mean you get to be a sick fuck,” Y/N cut him off. “So, you know, thanks, but, also, maybe go fuck yourself.”

With that, the doors to the elevator closed, leaving Dean Winchester with one last image of the girl who got away: Y/N trying not to vomit in the elevator.

Everything Tags: @carrollmomx3 @raylin19 @spnhybrid @thinkwritexpress-official @wayward-marvel-and-more @writingbeautifulmen @xfanqirlinq

Dean Tags: @akshi8278 @gallxntdean @loveissupernatural

Pond Tags: @aprofoundbondwithdean @manawhaat @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @nichelle-my-belle @notnaturalanahi @bkwrm523 @salvachester @whispersandwhiskerburn @roxy-davenport @impala-dreamer @deathtonormalcy56 @samsgoddess @frenchybell @scorpiongirl1 @for-the-love-of-dean @mysupernaturalfics @spn-fan-girl-173 @deandoesthingstome @jelly-beans-and-gstrings @fiveleaf @deansleather @curliesallovertheplace @whywhydoyouwantmetosaymyname @waywardjoy @imadeangirl-butimsamcurious @supernatural-jackles @wevegotworktodo @ilovedean-spn2 @babypieandwhiskey @wi-deangirl77 @deantbh @supermoonpanda @sinceriouslyamellpadalecki @deanwinchesterforpromqueen @chaos-and-the-calm67 @memariana91 @plaidstiel-wormstache @teamfreewill-imagine @chelsea-winchester @fandommaniacx @revwinchester @lucibae-is-dancing-in-hell @castieltrash1 @supernaturalyobessed @ohwritever @ruined-by-destiel @inmysparetime0 @winchester-writes @deals-with-demons @maraisabellegrey @faith-in-dean @winchestersmolder @bennyyh @clueless-gold @deanwinchesterxreader @melbelle45 @winchester-family-business

@mrswhozeewhatsis Tags: @vintagevalentinexx @bowtiesandapplepie @itsemmyb @ezauraemmaline @matteson-crazed @castielspahdehrah @charliesbackbitches @crzcorgi @ellen-reincarnated1967 @gryffindorable713 @deerlululucy @walkingencyclopediaoffandom @MrsJohnSmith @growleytria @thegleegeneration @samtomydeanwinchester @i-never-said-a-pilot @thewinchestielboys @sis-tafics @amaranthinecastiel @meganwinchester1999 @kittenofdoomage @samanddeanwinchester67 @prettyxwickedxthings @ferferelli @lilyoflothlorien @myfand0msandm0re @olitzisbae @iridianuniverse @the-morning-star-falls @shortandlongstories @strange-inhumanity @ackleslaugh @noisilyyoungpuppy @fangirling-instead-of-working @eyes-of-a-disney-princess @chrisatplay @spnsimpleman @kreborn17 @mamaimpala @winchesterfiesta @zanthiasplace @sleep-silent-angel @gadreelsforbiddenfruit @trenchcoats-and-bees @jencharlan @not-so-natural-spn @skybinx-blog @thebunkerismyhome @feelmyroarrrr @beachy2014 @fandom-book-nerd @tia58 @sams-little-toy @faegal04 @sunriserose1023 @saving-things-hunting-family @winchesterswoonathon @jotink78 @lucifer-in-leather @i-dont-know-how-to-write @everyday-supernatural-af @howmanytuesdaysdidyouhave @avasmommy224 @angelwingsandsupernaturalthings @mysaintsasinner @besslincoln-bruh @wheresthekillswitch @shelovesallthethings @klaineaholic @supernaturalismalife @pinknerdpanda @hexparker @atwistoffate

#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #dean x reader #reader x dean #dean winchester x reader #reader x dean winchester #dean fanfiction #dean fanfic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester reader insert #dean reader insert #my words #crack fic #anti-fsog

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taeken-my-heart · 7 years ago

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Independent {f} - Chapter 2

Summary: Your mom calls you stubborn, your friends call you wild, and the boys you’ve left in your wake call you a frigid bitch. You’ve built a life of independence and you like it that way. Kim Taehyung, however; might just change your mind.

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Genre: Light fluff

Word Count: 3436

Another week passed after your last meeting with Taehyung and you neither saw nor heard from him since then. You knew logically that this should make you happy, this was exactly what you’d wanted, but for some reason all you could think about was the uncomfortable clenching in your gut each time you thought that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t actually interested.

You sat at the back of your Photojournalism class staring wistfully out the window as your professor droned on about your latest photography project but you were hardly paying attention. The syllabus had given you all the details you’d needed at the beginning of the year and you already had a plan mapped out for what you wanted to photograph and submit.

You sighed, wondering absentmindedly if you were losing your touch with men, maybe Taehyung wasn’t chasing after you because you’d lost your charms. You weren’t doing anything differently from before, though, so you couldn’t understand the change. You ran a hand through your hair in frustration; why was this occupying so much of your attention? You’d never sought men’s attention before and in fact had found it rather annoying and a hindrance to your overall lifestyle.

The professor released the class and you began to pack your bags. As you walked through the lecture hall towards the door your teacher called you over and you hiked your bag higher on your shoulder. It wasn’t very often that Professor Schultz called someone aside and when he did, it usually meant a special assignment. Your stomach clenched in irritation at the thought. You already had enough on your plate, an extra assignment wasn’t all that inviting at the moment.

“I’ve got an assignment for you to do,” He smiled. You tried your best not to sigh.

“Is this on top of the current project?” You asked, as calmly as possible.

“Actually, in your case I want you to make it your assignment. It’s rather time consuming and I don’t really trust anyone else with it.”

You frowned in confusion. What kind of an assignment would he give you that made it important enough to change your entire plan? You shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.

“What did you have in mind?” You asked.

“Well,” he said, packing some of his books into his brief case, “we need someone to cover the front-page story in the school’s paper. The Winter Recital is happening in 2 weeks and a lot of recruiters are coming so it’s a pretty big deal for our school. We need someone who can document the whole preparing process through to the performance. The Dean needs someone reliable and you’re the only one I trust with this assignment.”

You were currently kissing your plans and good sleep goodbye as you internally screamed. It was flattering to be thought so highly of and you knew this would look good in your portfolio, but The Winter Recital was the last thing you wanted to be spending time focusing on. You were a purist in the sense that you wanted to work on the things you felt passionate about…and this was not one of those things.

Despite all your reservations you found yourself nodding, “I understand. Thank you for the opportunity, I’ll do my best to make sure we are well represented.”

“Thank you, y/n,” Professor Schultz smiled, snapping the clasps to his briefcase closed and lifting it off his desk, “If you just follow me to my office, I can give you a paper with all the information you need.”

Half an hour later you found a quiet spot in the back of the library and sat down in the plush cushions to go over your new assignment and make some notes. You had intended to go home, make some ramen and veg in front of your laptop for the rest of the night but now you had to get ready to go to the first rehearsal in two hours and that left you grumbling in irritation.

According to the paperwork your professor had given you, this assignment would occupy nearly every night of the next two weeks and you bemoaned the loss of your free time. The Winter Recital was for anyone in the humanities field that could perform. Only the best were selected to participate and each year recruiters from top talent agencies and specialized academies would come to recruit the cream of the crop.

Your friend Eleanor had been recruited for her incredible singing last year and was now in the process of producing an album under one of the most popular labels in the country. It really was the opportunity of a lifetime for any college student to be able to document the recital because the pictures always made national headlines. You just didn’t find it particularly exciting. You prided yourself on capturing beautiful little moments that people often overlooked and what kind of small beauty could you find in this type of performance that wasn’t altogether over the top?

After finishing the plans and moping for the last five minutes, you stood up to make your way to the concert hall. It had grown a little chilly as the afternoon progressed into early evening and you were glad, you’d thought to bring a coat. You slipped through the front doors of the performing arts center quietly and looked around in curiosity. If you were being honest, you’d never actually set foot in this building, though you probably should have due to the nature of your degree, but most of your photography classes had been thrown into other random buildings like an afterthought and there didn’t seem to be much of a point in visiting the stomping grounds of the performing arts kids.

You could hear soft music wafting from somewhere in the building and you allowed it to lead you to the main concert hall. Stepping through the doors into the dimly lit hall, you watched as some of the actors stood talking to their professor at the edge of the stage as he gave them general directions. You held your satchel awkwardly in front of you as you waited for the professor to notice you and took the opportunity to glance around the concert hall. It wasn’t really anything special, you had sort of expected it to be a little grander and in line with its general purpose, but it was very simple.

It was a large hall filled with simple adornments and chairs stuffed into every corner. The stage was the most beautiful part of the entire room and that was partially due to the set design, which they were still setting up behind the actors as they began to talk amongst themselves.

“Y/n, I presume?”

You jumped at your name being called and looked down to the director, a middle-aged man with glasses, a slightly rounded tummy, and long khaki pants with a tucked in button up.

“Yes, that’s me,” you said, stepping forward quickly and making your way to him through the maze of chairs. You extended your hand and shook his once you’d reached him and shook the hand of his assistant, Michael, as you made introductions.

“Professor Schultz has high praise for you,” Professor Brinkerhoff mused, “I hope you’re as good as he said because we need this production to be the talk of the town.”

You bristled at his inference. A show should be the talk of the town all on its own and your pictures would have nothing to do with whether or not they were successful. Despite that, you bit your tongue and smiled.

“I hope I can do his praise credit.”

Professor Brinkerhoff nodded and motioned for you to follow. “I don’t really know your method or style, but we’ll be running through different parts of the show tonight, mainly focusing on our theater production and dance, but you’ll need to capture each portion. It’s a given that not every picture will be selected for print, but if you could make sure to have a few pictures of each performer so we have a large selection to choose from, that would be great.”

You nodded along in turn as he recited all the things he wanted you to do that were part and parcel for this sort of assignment. For someone with less experience, the reiteration would have been helpful but to you it was just a broken record. When Professor Brinkerhoff finally let you go to attend to the actors you set your bag down with a sigh and began to riffle through for your equipment. The practice started and you began taking pictures of each individual making sure to pick up any small details you felt would contribute to the beauty of the pictures. Pictures of the actors, pictures of the set artists, and pictures of Professor Brinkerhoff and Michael deep in conversation about possible improvements.

You sat a few rows behind the professor flipping through your pictures and waiting for the next set to take place. You’d already gotten a lot of pictures and were now wasting time sitting around waiting. You tried not to be bitter because you had prepared for this, but preparing and surviving were two different things.

You sighed in boredom and stared absentmindedly at the stage as the dancers filed on, stretching and preparing for their set and that’s when you saw him. Taehyung. He was dressed in a fitted white t-shirt and dark grey sweatpants that were just a little too baggy for his lithe frame. He stood staring down at the professor, hands on hips and nodding in turn with whatever the professor was saying, but you couldn’t hear him. Your head was fuzzy and felt like it was filled with the sharp whistle of a speeding train all at the same time.

You couldn’t remember when you stopped breathing, but you coughed and spluttered uncomfortably as the music started and you watched in awe as they began to dance; as he began to dance. He moved with a gracefulness and fluidity that made sparks nip at your spine. He was beautiful and you found yourself raising your camera quickly to your eyes, snapping picture after picture of just him.

You barely came to your senses enough to snap a few pictures of the others before the dance number ended. You stood in a trance off to the side watching as Taehyung and the other dancers talked in a huddle. You knew you should scurry off somewhere to hide before he noticed you, but your feet were rooted to the floor. Despite all of his father’s apparent reservations, Taehyung had definitely chosen the right career path. You glanced down to look at the pictures you’d just taken when you heard someone shout your name.

“Y/n!”

You looked back up to find Taehyung looking at you, smile nearly splitting his face in two. He raced to the end of the stage and jumped off the edge coming to stop right in front of you. You stood in confusion, trying to say something, anything that would sound more dignified than silence but nothing came.

He didn’t seem to notice. “What are you doing here?” He beamed, chest still rising and falling from the dance.

“I-” You cleared your throat awkwardly trying to rid yourself of the uncomfortable tickle, “I was asked to photograph The Winter Recital.” You said simply.

If it was possible, Taehyung’s smile grew. “Wow, what an honor. I know what a big deal this recital is to us, I can only imagine how much something like this could help in your portfolio.”

You nodded absentmindedly. It was true, this was a big deal. Other schools had concerts and recitals but because of your school’s location and prestige this was like the GRAMMYs of recitals. This would probably set you up for something really amazing, but you couldn’t think of that now, not when Taehyung was standing right in front of you smiling so brightly you thought you might go blind.

You tried to remind yourself of your life goals and a man was certainly not part of them. You rounded your shoulders preparing to give him a simple compliment and return to your seat but he spoke first.

“What do you think so far? I love the scene before ours, I don’t know if you know any of the actors in the group but they’re really talented. My friend Jin is among them, right there,” he said, pointing off into the distance at a tall, dark haired young man in the corner of the stage. “It evokes a lot of emotion and really sets up our dance number perfectly.”

“To be honest, I’ve been so focused on taking pictures I haven’t really paid much attention. I’ll have to watch more carefully tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Taehyung asked, “You’ll be back?”

“Yeah,” you said, doing your best to keep your sigh in, “this is my photojournalism assignment courtesy of my professor. I’ll be here all the way through to the end of the recital.”

“Wow, so I guess I’ll be seeing you around,” he smiled. Just then the professor called him back over to rehearse again and he left you with a smile and small wave. You returned to your seat and flipped absentmindedly through the pictures you’d taken. There were a lot of good candidates for your project, but none quite as beautiful as the ones you’d taken of Taehyung. You’d never admit that, of course. At least not to anyone outside of your own head.

By the time rehearsal was finished you were decidedly sapped, a raw mixture of hunger, exhaustion, and just plain irritation at being stuck with this assignment. It had been a beautiful display of talent from all ends, but it’s not what you wanted to be doing. You nodded to the professor, bidding him a good night and headed out of the concert hall and into the main rotunda that held the doors to your freedom.

You stepped out into the cool night air and took a deep breath in, eyes closing in a moment of simple bliss. You stood still for around 10 seconds before hearing a door open beside you and you opened your eyes to look to your right.

“Hey,” Taehyung smiled, “I thought you’d be long gone by now.”

You stuck your hands into the small pockets of your sweater and shook your head, “just leaving now.” You took the steps down two at a time in an effort to put some space between you and the young man that was making your heart beat loudly in your ears. You heard his soft footsteps behind you before he fell in time with your own. He’d pulled a beanie over his head and tucked himself into the hood of his navy-blue hoodie. He smiled down at your questioning gaze and then looked straight along the path.

“My apartment is in this direction so I figure we can walk together for a few minutes.” He said, nodding his chin in the direction you were both walking. You shrugged your shoulders but couldn’t bring yourself to utter a word.

“So, have you been back to the little coffee place I showed you last week?” Taehyung asked.

“No,” you said simply. Truthfully, you wanted to go back but you were always afraid you’d run into him and that would send you running off to Starbucks for an overpriced latte in an effort to avoid the feelings growing out of the center of your heart and winding their way down into your stomach, disturbing the long dormant butterflies from their sleep.

“Ah, I thought you liked it,” he said.

“I do, I just haven’t found the time recently.” You weren’t really sure why you were explaining yourself to him, but the words kept tumbling from your mouth in quick succession before you could stop them.

“I understand that. This recital has kept me so busy but it’s such a great opportunity I can’t help but throw myself into it.”

“What if a talent agency notices you? You’re really good so they just might.” You wanted to bite your tongue in punishment for how loose it had become but you couldn’t take it back now so you brace for impact.

“Thank you,” he smiled, “to be honest, I haven’t really thought about it. There’s a lot of talented people up on that stage with me. It’s just an honor to participate. I’m not dancing for the prestige; I just do it because it makes my heart beat from one moment to the next.”

You found yourself nodding in understanding. Your mother didn’t understand your passion in photography, she always made some side comment about finding a job better suited to your skills and that always made you wonder bitterly what skills she seemed to think you had outside of pictures. Despite your mother’s reservations and your own doubts at the sensibility of your chosen career path, photography is the only thing that makes your heart beat; that gives you purpose, and quite honestly, it was the only thing that could get you out of bed the first few months after your dad died.

“I get it,” you said, “that’s how I feel about photography. Sometimes it’s the only thing keeping me glued together.” You stopped walking as you stepped into the driveway of your home. Taehyung looked at you in confusion and you thrust your thumb back over your shoulder.

“This is me.”

Taehyung looked at the house and smiled brightly. “Oh, so you live in the house with the little yellow duck mailbox.” You smiled in bemusement.

“I’ve always wondered about this house,” Taehyung began to explain. “I’ve walked past this door every day for the last year and I always pause to pat this little duck on the head,” he said, smiling wistfully as he stroked the head of the yellow duck mailbox. Of course, you knew about this, that is how you came to know of his existence. You’d been standing in the living room, shoving your books in your backpack as he’d walked by that first day in late summer to stop suddenly at your mailbox, smile in childlike wonderment and pat the ducks head enthusiastically before continuing on his way.

You had never seen anything so bizarre and so beautiful in all your life and in that moment, you determined to avoid him at all costs, his sincerity and enthusiasm so alarmingly attractive. You’d spent many hours since that day awkwardly trying to avoid him while still stealing private moments to peer at him through the books in the library as he studied or watching him eat lunch with his friends in the school café.

You nodded, rubbing your lips together in order to avoid saying anything you’d regret. “It came with the place. I’m just renting the bottom apartment with a few other girls.”

Taehyung nodded looking at the house, eyes wide as he scanned the peeling white paint of the front porch with the dark blue rocking chair and flower boxes hanging from the sides of the railings. It was a small, quaint house that you’d rented a room from with three other girls, two of whom were sisters. You loved it so much that you’d rented it for an entire extra semester and at this point you planned to do the same thing again next year.

It was the type of quiet beauty that you liked; soft, a little rough around the edges and completely unassuming. You watched Taehyung finish his scan of the house as you shifted from foot to foot. You didn’t know why you hoped he would like it; it was precious to you and any rejection given felt personal.

Finally, Taehyung looked back at you and smiled, “I like it; it feels like home. Seems like it is the type of place that holds a lot of good memories.”

Your tongue scanned the inside of your bottom lip as you looked down at the sidewalk and nodded. “It’s been a very comfortable home.”

“Anyway,” Taehyung sighed, tugging his backpack higher on his shoulder and looking back down at you. “I’ve gotta head home, homework is calling my name, but thanks for the company; this walk was pleasant for once, thanks to you. See you tomorrow!” With a final wave, he spun on his heel and walked into the darkening evening and you watched until you could no longer see him with a tightening in your chest that was completely unfamiliar to you.

Thanks again for reading! Feel free to send me comments and ask questions. Have a nice day!

Chapter 1 Chapter 3

#taehyung #taehyung x reader #BTS v #bts scenarios #bts #v #taehyungfluff #romance #taehyung x you #bts fanfic #bts fanfction

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profounddestinyhunter · 7 years ago

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Pilot (Part 3): Water Under the Bridge

A/N: A year without posting she comes back with part three! ….Yeah, I’m deeply sorry everyone that I’ve been gone for so long. Life was kinda kicking my ass. I do want to make it clear that I will be continuing this story, it’s still a passion of mine. With that said, I want to thank everyone that stuck with me since the beginning. Thank you, truly, for putting up with me. Please enjoy part three! Word count is: 4,374

Knowing Sam was now on board with the search, Dean popped the trunk of the Impala and the spare-tire compartment. He propped it open with a shotgun as he dug around the clutter in the arsenal.

“All right, let’s see, where the hell did I put that thing?” Dean voiced to himself.

Sam and you moved closer towards the trunk to get a better view of what he was searching for. Always the curious one, Sam decided to ask something that has been bugging him since his brother told him the news of their father. “So when Dad left, why didn’t you go with him?”

Dean didn’t bother glancing up from his work. “I was working my own gig. This, uh, voodoo thing, down in New Orleans.”

Raising your eyebrows, you couldn’t believe what Dean said. Was he not going to mention that you worked cases with him? Granted the two of you had a sort of falling out and he was probably only informing Sam what he was doing when their Dad disappeared. But still. It stung a little that Dean neglected to tell his little brother that tidbit.

Sam shifted on his feet. “Dad let you go on a hunting trip by yourself?”

Turning towards Sam, he gave him an incredulous look. “I’m twenty-six, dude.”

You rolled your eyes. “Great, and I’m twenty-one. Now that we established that we’re all adults, can you show us the case?”

With a chuckle from Sam and a glare from Dean, the older Winchester pulled out some papers from a folder. He explained how each report was about men who had all gone missing on the same five-mile stretch of road in the past twenty years just outside of Jericho.

Dean picked up a hand held tape recorder and pressed play. “Dean,” John’s voice cut through the static, “something big is starting to happen… I need to try and figure out what’s going on. It may… Be very careful, Dean. We’re all in danger.”

Turns out there was an EVP on the recording. “All right. I slowed the message down, I ran it through a gold wave, took out the hiss, and this is what I got,” Dean said.

The woman’s voice cracked through the recorder and eerily whispered. “I can never go home.”

Wanting to look over the case some more you took the files from Dean before he could put them back in the trunk.

“You know, in almost two years I’ve never bothered you, never asked you for a thing,” Dean started as he leaned against the now closed trunk.

That was your cue to give the brothers some time to talk. With papers in hand, you leafed through them as you walked trying to find any kind of connection. This proved rather difficult when the cool crisp air finally hit you. The missing person reports couldn’t even distract you enough from the shivers that kept coursing through your body. Your short trek through the empty parking lot ended quickly and you found yourself heading back towards the boys.

“It’s a law school interview, and it’s my whole future on a plate,” Sam stated slowly, completely done with whatever they were discussing.

Dean nodded his head and smirked. “Law school?”

“So we got a deal or not?” Sam waited patiently for a response he never received.

***

Currently, you were occupying the front seat of the car as Dean stopped for gas and Sam rifled through Dean’s cardboard box filled with cassette tapes. You bolted at the opportunity to sit in Dean’s normal spot so you could catch up with Sam.

“That’s awesome Sam. You’re a shoo-in.” You playfully punched his shoulder in congratulations.

His lips twitched into a sheepish smile. “Well, I’m not a lawyer yet.” Sam paused his digging through the cassette box to fully face you. “So how are you, (Y/N)? You’ve been kinda quiet.”

“Yeah,” you shrugged. “I’m alright, maybe a little tired.”

Sam tilted his head to the side as he watched you. Even after all these years apart he could still detect when you weren’t yourself. “I hope you’re not pushing yourself too hard on hunts again, (Y/N).”

“Quite the opposite actually.” A nervous laugh escaped through your lips. “I’ve been taking a break from hunting.”

Obviously not expecting that, Sam’s brows shot up in surprise. A bunch of emotions flickered across his face until he settled on confusion.

You cut him off quickly as you saw Dean walking out from the gas station mart. “I’ll tell you later.”

Sam sported a pouty frown but nodded regardless.

“Hey! You two want breakfast?” Dean asked with a granola bar sticking out of his mouth and an array of junk food in his arms as he walked up beside the pump the Impala was parked at.

Sam glanced at the unhealthy food choices and rolled his eyes. “No, thanks.”

Dean held up the items directing his gaze at you this time. The car door squeaked open, alerting to him that you wanted breakfast. The granola bar he was holding in his mouth was tossed in your direction, effectively hitting you in the face.

“Seriously, Dean?” You scoffed, moving out of the car to pick up the granola bar off the ground.

“It got you out of the front seat, didn’t it?” He smirked as you slipped into the back of the car.

Still looking at the box of cassette tapes, Sam cut off the comeback you were thinking of giving Dean. “So how’d you pay for that stuff? You and Dad still running credit card scams?”

“Yeah, well, hunting ain’t exactly a pro ball career,” Dean replied as he filled the Impala’s gas tank. “Besides, all we do is apply. It’s not our fault they send us the cards.” He placed the nozzle back on the side of the pump after the tank was filled.

“Yeah? And what names did you write on the application this time?” Sam retorted, letting the box rest on his lap while he shifted himself back into the car and shut the door.

“Uh, Burt Aframian.” Dean climbed into the driver seat, placing his soda and chips down next to him. “And his son, Hector. Scored two cards out of the deal.”

“Hector is a nice name, we should start calling you that,” You teased from the backseat.

A short laugh escaped Sam before he turned to the box on his lap. “I swear, man, you’ve gotta update your cassette tape collection.” He shook his head.

Dean spoke with a mix of hurt and disbelief. “Why?”

“Well, for one, they’re cassette tapes. And two,” Sam held up each tape for every band he named. “Black Sabbath? Motorhead? Metallica?”

Snatching that last plastic case from his little brother, Dean popped the tape from its cover and into the player.

“It’s the greatest hits of mullet rock,” Sam said with finality.

Not wanting Sam to think you agreed with him, you leaned over the front seat right in between the two brothers and cranked the volume almost completely up. Returning to your original spot, you managed to send Sam a mischievous wink.

The older Winchester couldn’t help but laugh at Sam’s face. “Well, house rules, Sammy.” He grinned, starting up the car. “Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole.” AC/DC’s “Back in Black” blared from the speakers as Dean dropped the empty case back in the box.

“You know, Sammy is a chubby twelve-year-old. It’s Sam, okay?” He corrected, struggling to be heard over the music.

Dean whirled one of his fingers around his own ear. “Sorry, I can’t hear you, the music’s too loud.” He smirked as he drove off to the sound of Brian Johnson’s vocals and your laughter.

***

Laying your head against the Impala door you watched the scenery and a sign that read “JERICHO 7” whizz by, as Sam wrapped up his phone call.

“Thank you,” Sam spoke, shutting his phone before sharing what he learned. “All right. So, there’s no one matching Dad at the hospital or morgue. So that’s something, I guess.”

Dean glanced at his brother for a split second before directing his gaze back on the road. Your eyes flitted between the brothers trying to gauge what they were feeling based on this news. If it weren’t for the music playing, the car would have been dead quiet.

“Check it out,” Dean announced, nodding his head towards the bridge that was ahead. Several policemen and police cars milled around the area. The Impala pulled to a stop and the three of you just watched the scene on the bridge for a couple of minutes. The car shuddered to a stop when Dean turned the engine off and reached for the glove compartment. Upon opening the compartment, Dean revealed a box which contained an outrageous number of ID cards with both his and John’s faces on them. As the older Winchester sorted through all the fake cards, you could’ve sworn you saw a card with Sam’s face that said “bikini inspector” on it.

After being deemed appropriate, Sam and yourself received the cards from Dean. Observing the I.D. you noticed it was an older picture of yourself by how young you looked. You huffed out a laugh at that. “The amount of illegal stuff I’ve done with you two assholes is gonna come back and bite me in the ass, I can feel it.”

“Shut up,” Dean replied with a scoff and an eye roll. He nudged his little brother who snorted at his terrible comeback, smiling in spite of himself. A final shake of the head and Dean voiced, “Let’s go.”

***

The bridge was bustling with officers, the whole place was crawling with men in uniform. Many of them were investigating the car above and some were below searching in the river. So many police officers in one area made you uneasy.

One officer, a Deputy, near the edge of the bridge leaned over and yelled down towards the murky water. “You guys find anything?” He questioned.

“No! Nothing!” The police diver shouted up as a response.

The officer turned his attention away from the water to the car sat in the middle of the bridge. Judging by the police tape surrounding it, you assumed it was missing person’s ride. A second Deputy was rifling around at the driver’s side of said car when his colleague approached him.

“No sign of struggle, no footprints, no fingerprints. Spotless. It’s almost too clean.” He explained as the three of you approached, the boys exuding a lot more confidence than you. You let out a shaky breath, suddenly nervous. The months of not hunting finally catching up to you.

The Deputy outside the car decided to strike up a conversation. “So, this kid Troy. He’s dating your daughter, isn’t he?”

“Yeah.”

“How’s Amy doing?”

“She’s putting up missing posters downtown.”

You made a mental note of that name just as the boys and you approached the car. Dean took the lead and spoke first. “You fellas had another one like this just last month, didn’t you?”

The Deputy turned at the new voice. “And who are you three?”

Swifty, the three of you flashed your badges in unison. You shocked yourself by how smooth that went. Thank God for muscle memory.

“Federal marshals,” Dean explained, putting away his badge.

“You three are a little young for marshals, aren’t you?” The Deputy questioned suspiciously.

With a short laugh, Dean brushed it off quickly. “Thanks, that’s awfully kind of you.”

Well, fuck. If he thought Sam and Dean looked young, you were screwed. You tried not to squirm under the scrutinizing gaze from the Deputy. Gathering yourself, you followed the older Winchester’s lead. “You did have another one just like this, correct?”

He nodded. “Yeah, that’s right. About a mile up the road. There’ve been others before that.”

“So, this victim, you knew him?” Sam threw in as his brother circled around the car trying to examine it.

The man nodded again. “Town like this, everybody knows everybody.”

Still looking at the car Dean asked, “Any connection between the victims?”

“Besides that they’re all men?” You added.

“No. Not so far as we can tell,” He responded with a shake of his head.

“So what’s the theory?” Sam questioned, moving over to stand beside Dean across from you.

“Honestly, we don’t know. Serial murder? Kidnapping ring?” The Deputy listed off the potential possibilities.

“Well, that is exactly the kind of crack police work I’d expect out of you guys.” With a tight-lipped smile, you continued to stare straight ahead pretending that you didn’t just hear Dean say that. Trying to regain hold of the conversation you sent a desperate look towards Sam, hoping he could fix this situation. Unfortunately, Sam only made things worse by being very obvious and stomped on Dean’s foot. After you witnessed this happen, you could feel your eye twitch as you held onto the last of your composure.

“Thank you for your time. Gentlemen,” Sam smiled forcefully, starting to walk away with Dean on his heels and you in tow. You were still acting casual in case the Deputies were watching. No need to attract any more attention to yourselves.

“What the hell, De-” You started, but were cut off after Dean smacked the back of Sam’s head.

“Ow! What was that for?!”

“Why’d you have to step on my foot?”

“Why do you have to talk to the police like that?”

“Knock it off you two!” You hissed, having had enough of their childish behavior. Walking ahead, Dean turned and stopped in front of Sam. This caused you to stumble into Sam’s back when he paused.

“Come on. They don’t really know what’s going on. We’re all alone on this. I mean, if we’re going to find Dad we’ve got to get to the bottom of this thing ourselves.” As Dean ranted, he had failed to notice a Sheriff and two FBI agents looming behind him. The older Winchester spun around after Sam cleared his throat and you kept throwing glances over his shoulder.

“Can I help you boys? Ma’am?” The Sheriff asked, brows raised and a nod of acknowledgment in your direction as he spoke.

“No, sir, we were just leaving,” You answered. The brothers followed behind you, as you lead them back to the Impala.

Your eyes almost rolled to the back of your head as you heard Dean mutter behind you. “Agent Mulder. Agent Scully.”

***

The next stop on the list was downtown Jericho. The three of you hoped to find Amy, the missing man’s girlfriend, and ask her what she knew. You were in luck because you had spotted her putting up missing person posters by the Highland Movie Theater.

Amy had agreed to answer some questions with her friend Rachel after you had convinced her that you were Troy’s Aunt and Uncles. At first, she was a little confused why Troy had never mentioned any Aunts or Uncles to her. Thinking on the fly, you reassured her that the three of you lived up in Modesto and weren’t around much.

“Oh, that makes sense,” she nodded. “We should talk somewhere more private.” All in agreement with that suggestion, the five of you made your way to the little diner that was down the street.

Sam slid into the small booth first, followed by yourself, and then Dean. Rachel and Amy settled opposite from the three of you.

“I was on the phone with Troy.” Amy began, “He was driving home. He said he would call me right back, and… he never did.”

“He didn’t say anything strange, or out of the ordinary?” Sam asked.

Amy shook her head in response. “No. Nothing I can remember.”

While Sam was conversing with Amy, you couldn’t help but stare at her pentagram necklace. About to question her about it, you were silenced when Dean leaned forward and squished you more into Sam’s side.

“Here’s the deal, ladies. The way Troy disappeared, something’s not right. So if you’ve heard anything…” He prompted.

The two girls exchanged a knowing glance with each other, which indicated that they clearly knew something.

“What is it?” Dean questioned.

After another look from Amy, Rachel spoke up, “Well, it’s just… I mean, with all these guys going missing, people talk.”

“What do they talk about?” The three of you asked in perfect unison. There was an awkward pause as Dean glanced at you and Sam. Shrugging your shoulders you gestured for Rachel to continue.

“It’s kind of this local legend. This one girl? She got murdered out on Centennial, like decades ago…” Rachel explained, “Well, supposedly she’s still out there. She hitchhikes, and whoever picks her up? Well, they disappear forever.”

It was clear at that moment that this was definitely your kind of gig. Hopefully, the information the girls provided would be enough to aid the Winchesters and you in research.

***

The three of you made a beeline to the Library not long after the conversation at the diner. Idly spinning around in your chair, you watched Dean struggle to come up with any search results for “Female Murder Hitchhiking”. Dean tried again by replacing a few words, only to end up with the same lack of results. Sam finally lost his patience when Dean attempted another search for what seemed like the millionth time.

“Let me try,” He said, reaching towards the keyboard, only to be smacked away by Dean.

“I got it,” He assured before Sam completely pushed his brother’s chair away from the computer.

“Dude!” Dean protested, smacking his little brother’s shoulder. “You’re such a control freak.” He muttered. The boys continued to harass each other while you took the opportunity to scoot closer to the desk.

“So, I’ve been thinking. Angry spirits are born out of violent death, right?” You started, gaining both Winchesters attention. Receiving a noise of confirmation, you continued. “Well, maybe it’s not murder.”

Sam nodded in understanding, realizing where you were going with this. Typing rapidly you replaced “Murder” with “Suicide” in the search box. The computer finally produced an article titled “Suicide on Centennial” after three excruciating minutes of loading. Turning your chair slightly you threw a cocky smile towards Dean. His only response was an irritated eye roll.

“This was 1981. Constance Welch, twenty-four years old, jumps off Sylvania Bridge, drowns in the river.” Sam scrolled through the newspaper article, eyes searching for more information.

“Does it say why she did it?” Dean asked, leaning closer trying to see the computer.

“Yeah,” Sam replied, “An hour before they found her, she calls 911. Apparently, her two little kids are in the bathtub. She leaves them alone for a minute, and when she comes back, they aren’t breathing. Both die.”

“Jesus,” You murmured.

Dean hummed as Sam quoted part of the article. “'Our babies were gone, and Constance just couldn’t bear it,’ said husband Joseph Welch.” The man mentioned in the paper was pictured next to the Sylvania Bridge, which you recognized as Troy’s crime scene.

“That bridge look familiar to you?” Dean knowingly asked.

“Let’s check it out,” You announced, automatically standing.

***

The Sylvania Bridge at night was a stark contrast to the one you visited during the daytime. There was no longer any police officers yelling or blocking off access to the bridge. The three of you were currently stopped near the side of the bridge. You could clearly hear the roar of the murky water below as you leaned over the metal railing.

“So this is where Constance took the swan dive,” Dean commented.

Sam turned to look at Dean as you continued to try to make out anything through the fog that appeared. “So you think Dad would have been here?” Sam asked.

“Well, he’s chasing the same story and we’re chasing him,” Dean responded, moving away from the railing and slowly making his way across the bridge. Sam, eager to figure out what’s next, closely followed his older brother with you not trailing far behind.

“Okay, so now what?” Sam questioned.

“Now we keep digging until we find him. Might take a while.” Dean answered. Sam immediately stopped walking, Dean and yourself pausing too.

“Dean, I told you, I’ve gotta get back by Monday-”

“Monday. Right. The interview,” Dean interrupted.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, I forgot. You’re really serious about this, aren’t you? You think you’re just going to become some lawyer? Marry your girl?”

“Maybe. Why not?” Sam shrugged.

“Does Jessica know the truth about you? I mean, does she know about the things you’ve done?”

“No, and she’s not ever going to know,” Sam said seriously, taking a step closer to Dean.

“Well, that’s healthy,” Dean retorted. “You can pretend all you want, Sammy. But sooner or later you’re going to have to face up to who you really are.” The older hunter turned and started walking away from Sam. You watched silently as the discussion quickly turned into a heated argument. For a moment you considered intervening but thought better of it.

“And who’s that?” Sam asked, a couple of steps behind his older brother.

“You’re one of us,” Dean said like it was obvious.

Sam stormed in front of his older brother, effectively stopping him in his tracks. “No. I’m not like you. This is not going to be my life. (Y/N) doesn’t want this to be her life either.”

Dean’s eyes flickered in your direction for a brief second before he focused his attention on Sam. “You have a responsibility to-”

“To Dad? And his crusade? If it weren’t for pictures I wouldn’t even know what Mom looks like. And what difference would it make? Even if we do find the thing that killed her, Mom’s gone. And she isn’t coming back.”

As true as Sam’s point might have been, it was still a shock to hear. A gasp flew from your lips as Dean suddenly grabbed the front of Sam’s hoodie and shoved him against the metal pillar of the bridge.

“Guys, that’s enough!” You shouted, finally leaving your spot and hurrying over to where the two men stood. “Knock it off, Dean,” You hissed, attempting to get him to let go of his younger brother. He didn’t budge at your words. With a huff, you decided to try to pry his fingers off with force.

Dean was silent as your nails clawed at his hands; he was too preoccupied glaring at Sam. “Don’t talk about her like that,” He growled, breaking the silence, not before releasing his brother’s hoodie and stomping off.

Ignoring the fuming Dean, you directed your attention to the younger hunter. “You okay?” You asked Sam, placing a gentle hand on his arm. He nodded at you in response.

“Sam. (Y/N),” Dean called.

Turning around to face the direction Dean was, your eyes scanned along the bridge for what he could possibly be looking at. Then you saw it. Or rather her. Lightly smacking Sam on the arm, you pointed out what could only be described as an apparition. There in all her glory was Constance Welch. Despite the obscuring fog, you could tell it was her based on the picture from the article you read. Her face was blank, partly covered by a mass of tangled dark hair. Her long white dress whipped against her ankles and the railing she stood on.

For a brief moment, her empty eyes bore into yours as if she was trying to say something. Without a sound and no hesitation she let her body fall off the bridge and plummet into the awaiting river below.

The three of you raced over to where Constance previously was, searching to find a trace of her. “Where’d she go?” Dean asked, eyes straining to see in the dark.

“I don’t know,” Sam mumbled.

You sighed, “I think she’s gone, guys.”

As if responding to your statement, two bright headlights were shone at the three of you, illuminating your silhouettes against the otherwise dark bridge. The Impala’s engine suddenly roared to life, startling you. Glancing at the boys, you noticed they were just as confused as you were.

“What the f-” Dean trailed off quietly, drowned out by the constant rumbling of the car.

“Who’s driving your car?” Sam directed at his brother. Wordlessly, Dean dangled the car keys between his fingers, jingling them slightly to prove he had them. He slipped them back into his jacket pocket as his and two other pairs of eyes continued to watch the car with increasing worry.

With a jolt, the Impala surged forward, its intent to run the Winchesters and you over.

Panic flooded through you, the beloved Impala which you considered a safe haven was possessed and speeding towards you. With a rough tug on your jacket, you were pulled out of your thoughts and into motion.

“Go! Go!” Sam yelled, prompting Dean and yourself to run even faster.

You sprinted across the bridge, a couple of steps behind the hunters. Your hair blew rapidly behind you as the cold wind stung your cheeks. Sam and Dean would occasionally look back to see where the car was, while you focused on getting away from said car.

Literally running out of options, you stupidly went the only way you could at this point: off the bridge. The Impala was licking at your heels just as the three of you vaulted over the side of the railing.

Flinging your body sideways, you blindly made an attempt to grab the railing last minute. The rusty metal dug deep into your hands, cutting them like a knife through butter. You screamed as you lost what little grip you had on the railing as the weight of your body pulled you down.

Frantically you reached for something, anything, to latch onto. You had to force your eyes to remain open, otherwise, you weren’t sure you’d be able to open them again.

Your body collided heavily with an iron pole, nearly knocking the wind out of you. You landed painfully on your back an instant later.

From somewhere above, you vaguely heard the car’s tires squealing to a stop, having achieved its goal.

#pdh updates #supernatural #reader insert #Supernatural fanfic #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfiction #spn fic #supernatural reader insert #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #sam winchester x reader #sam x reader #pilot part 3 #1x01x3

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the-record-columns · 5 years ago

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June 26, 2019: Columns

She pulled "A Kenny"

By KEN WELBORN

Record Publisher

It seems as though that I am, on a regularly irregular basis, having to once again chronicle something monumentally stupid—or even if not exactly monumental, nonetheless stupid—things I have managed to do that either scared me to death, injured me, or potentially might have even killed my fool self.

You know, like the time I tried to light my gas grill without raising the lid—after a lighting attempt had already been tried by another person. A ball of orange flame hit me in the face and burned off my eyebrows and over half of the hair on my head. Actually, it was minimal damage compared to what could have been.

And, there was the time I tried to beat a train in Lenoir on my way back to school in Cullowhee. I was driving a 1957 Studebaker with a little hot water six-cylinder motor that wouldn't even pull a string out of a cat’s butt. Of course I got to the point of no return and I will never forget the sound of that train whistle as it bore down on me with neither one of us having any chance of stopping in time. Obviously, I made it, but only the good Lord knows how or why.

Then there was the fall from a ladder onto my deck which is 35 feet in the air—saved only by falling to the left, onto the deck; and not right, onto the street below. After which I was gently reminded of the "belt-buckle rule" by one Lester "Kingfish" Burns, about not leaning past the ladder's standards.

On it goes, even something as simple as spraying wasps in one of The Record's newspaper boxes, about got me stung to death when I attacked them with roach spray instead of the long-distance wasp spray I thought I had purchased. Just for the record, roach spray only angers wasps.

Well, I guess things just add up after a period of time, and the inevitable was bound to happen.

Recently I was talking to my dear friend, Nancy Sorbello, when she recounted her own "Perils of Pauline" kind of a day working around her house. After mentioning a few trials and tribulations, including burning her hand, she was telling me about going out on her deck to clean out a wading pool her grandchildren, Dillon and Lacey, to play in.

Her next remark is what sticks in, my mind, when she said, “The minute I stepped into that wading pool, I pulled 'a Kenny' and landed flat in that pool and got soaked."

The notable part of Nancy's statement is the part which says "...I pulled 'A Kenny.'"

It was at that moment that I realized I had become a generic term for a calamity of one kind or another.

Well, at least I’ve lived safely for a while, and thought I’d perhaps outlived my reputation. That was until this past Sunday afternoon. It was then that I decided to clean up after some work that had been done on the deck which is attached to my apartment above the offices of The Record. This involved a fairly large pile of sawdust and small wood scraps. Clearly, I should have swept it up with a broom, but noooooo! I had to go get the leaf blower and attack the sawdust electrically.

Literally at the second I cut on that blower and put the nozzle at the base of the sawdust pile, a breeze shifted and blew every bit of it straight back on my face, into my hair, my ears, my nose, on my clothes, and—the worst part—into my eyes.

To one extent or another, all my life something foreign had occasionally gotten in an eye and was shortly washed out naturally by the simple production of tears.

Not this time.

I had half of a rough sawn 2" x 8" x 18' board (a very old board from the American-Drew plant) in my right eye—or so it felt.

As I’ve noted here often, I do not suffer very well and Sunday was no exception. I splashed water on my face over and over, even took two showers just to let water wash my eyes, all to no avail.

As the evening progressed, it hurt worse and worse. I tried not to rub my eye, but it was almost an action of reflex. Finally, at about 10:30 p.m., I managed to drive over to the Emergency Room at the hospital where it was numbed, washed out, and the sawdust removed. After a long night of no sleep, I went to see Dr. Danny Payne on Monday morning and he checked my eye again and ordered what I needed for relief.

Sweet relief.

I say a special “thank you” to the folks at Wilkes Medical Center on Sunday and to Optometrist Dr. Danny Payne on Monday for their help. All is now better with no apparent lasting effects.

And yes, there is a nice set of goggles hanging in the C Street warehouse.

The moral of this story? Be careful. Don't pull "A Kenny."

We hold these truths to be self evident…or not

By HEATHER DEAN

Record Reporter

Next week Americans, whether by birth or by naturalization, will be celebrating what is considered America’s birthday.

But do you know how that came about and why? It’s not all fireworks, hot dogs, and Kenny’s famous chicken recipe. The question is not to insult, rather to educate, as it came to my attention last week that a high school graduate had never heard of a little ditty called “The Declaration of Independence,” or when it was signed, and was shocked to learn it was why we have fireworks and parades.

But don’t get me started, lack of our youth knowing history is another soapbox, I mean column, altogether. .

It seems to me that in this country’s current state of divisiveness in news outlets and social media about trade wars, who is, and who is not welcome in this country, which political party is at fault, accusing those who need government as just working the system, and what rights are actually being infringed on, that we may need to actually revisit these documents that are in fact, the law of this land, otherwise known at the Constitution.

Timeline: CONGRESS,

JULY 4, 1776.

The would be founding fathers were throwing down the gauntlet, after already being in a war against England for their independence.

Let’s peruse the infractions charged against the so called tyrant in charge of the nation at the time, and see how much history has changed. Or not. Here’s how it reads:

The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America when in the Course of human events it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature’s God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.

- That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed.

- That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security.

- Such has been the patient sufferance of these Colonies; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former Systems of Government. The history of the present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States. To prove this, let Facts be submitted to a candid world.

•He has refused his Assent to Laws, the most wholesome and necessary

for the public good.

•He has forbidden his Governors to pass Laws of immediate and pressing

importance, unless suspended in their operation till his Assent should be obtained; and when so suspended, he has utterly neglected to attend to them.

•He has refused to pass other Laws for the accommodation of large districts of people, unless those people would relinquish the right of Representation in the Legislature, a right inestimable to them and formidable to tyrants only.

•He has called together legislative bodies at places unusual, uncomfortable,

and distant from the depository of their Public Records, for the sole purpose of fatiguing them into compliance with his measures.

•He has dissolved Representative Houses repeatedly, for opposing with manly firmness his invasions on the rights of the people.

•He has refused for a long time, after such dissolutions, to cause others to be elected, whereby the Legislative Powers, incapable of Annihilation, have returned to the People at large for their exercise; the State remaining in the mean time exposed to all the dangers of invasion from without, and convulsions within.

•He has endeavoured to prevent the population of these States; for that purpose obstructing the Laws for Naturalization of Foreigners; refusing to pass others to encourage their migrations hither, and raising the conditions of new Appropriations of Lands.

•He has obstructed the Administration of Justice by refusing his Assent to Laws for establishing Judiciary Powers.

•He has made Judges dependent on his Will alone for the tenure of their offices, and the amount and payment of their salaries.

•He has erected a multitude of New Offices, and sent hither swarms of Officers to harass our people and eat out their substance.

•He has affected to render the Military independent of and superior to the Civil Power.

•He has combined with others to subject us to a jurisdiction foreign to our constitution, and unacknowledged by our laws; giving his Assent to their Acts of pretended Legislation:

•For cutting off our Trade with all parts of the world: For imposing Taxes on us without our Consent:

•For depriving us in many cases, of the benefit of Trial by Jury:

•For abolishing the free System of English Laws in a neighbouring

Province, establishing therein an Arbitrary government, and enlarging its Boundaries so as to render it at once an example and fit instrument for introducing the same absolute rule into these Colonies For taking away our Charters, abolishing our most valuable Laws and altering fundamentally the Forms of our Governments:

•For suspending our own Legislatures, and declaring themselves invested with power to legislate for us in all cases whatsoever.

•He has plundered our seas, ravaged our coasts, burnt our towns, and destroyed the lives of our people. He is at this time transporting large Armies of Mercenaries to compleat the works of death, desolation, and tyranny, already begun with circumstances of Cruelty & Perfidy scarcely paralleled in the most barbarous ages, and totally unworthy the Head of a civilized nation.

•In every stage of these Oppressions We have Petitioned for Redress in the most humble terms: Our repeated Petitions have been answered only by repeated injury. A Prince, whose character is thus marked by every act which may define a

Tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a free people.

We, therefore, the Representatives of the united States of America, in General Congress, Assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the Name, and by Authority of the good People of these Colonies, solemnly publish and declare, That these united Colonies are, and of Right ought to be Free and Independent States...

And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes, and our sacred Honor.”

In observing the politicians currently on the hill, it seems the aristocracy has risen again, and these words, 242 years old next week, still ring true.

Will you be a Patriot in the true sense of the word, as it was writ, and bring the power of America back to the people, or be on the wrong side of history, siding with tyranny?

The Church and the Chosen

By EARL COX

Special to The Record

In its infancy, the Jewish sect that came to belief in a Messiah who, to this day, is revered around the world, separated from its Jewish beginning. This separation marks the Hebrew roots of the modern church of believers.

In its nascence, Gentiles also came to believe and, over time, the separation of Messianic believers from the Jewish people accelerated. Whether from the evil inclination, yetzer hara, or an outside influence, satan and his fallen angels, (let the theologians sort it out), so began the woes suffered by Jews at the hands of a people eventually to become known as Christians.

However, persecution of the Jews did not begin with Christians. Persecution began much earlier, back in Egypt, and some historians claim even earlier. Nevertheless, the Jewish people have been harassed and assailed for thousands of years by both Christians and non-Christians. Even within the lifetime of many still living today, the Holocaust years of death for 6 million Jews are vividly remembered. The tattoos on the arms of survivors were readily seen for many years in America and around the world but, as these survivors grow old and die, the tattoos, those visual reminders, are becoming a fading memory.

Recognizing their mistake by failing to stand in defense of the Jewish people during WWII, there now seems to be a welcome change in attitude by many Christians toward the Jewish people and Israel. Though this phenomenon is not well understood by Jews, they are coming to embrace our friendship although not without a degree of suspicion, and rightfully so.

What is this new phenomenon from certain Christians the world over causing the feeling of compunction over Jewish pogroms of history? Why do many Christians seem to be making some kind of restitution toward Jews? Many millions of dollars have been donated by Christians to large Jewish organizations to help fund Aliyah, which is the immigration of Jews to their homeland of Israel.

What are we to make of these certain Christians who, by the millions, are pouring into Israel as tourists? These same Christians are actively seeking Jewish teachers and Rabbi’s to teach them Torah, from the depth of 3,500 years of wisdom. These same Christians are defending Jewish Israel from boycott, divestment and sanctions. They are standing against anti-Jewish agitators and militant anti-Semites who also hate Israel.

When I encounter such Christians in Israel and in America, their motivation for supporting Israel and the Jews is not, as some would claim, due to any attempt to fulfill Bible prophecy or hasten end-time events. This new-found love that Christians have for Jews and for Israel is for no other reason than God’s supreme His chosen people - the Jews, and for His special land – the land of Israel. God’s love and His love alone is the reason why so many Christians are stalwart protectors and supporters of Israel.

So, who are these certain, particular (peculiar) Christians who number into the tens of millions who support Israel without a principal agency to give them voice? These are Evangelical Christians who are distinct from those who generically call themselves Christians.

Evangelical Christians have an unyielding belief in the veracity of scripture, which begins with Genesis, not Matthew of the New Testament. It is the Bible that serves as the underlying well-spring of knowledge, including the moral and ethical way of living, that unifies Evangelical Christians, in addition to their unwavering belief in the Messiah.

Generic Christians will declare their belief in Messiah and scripture, but doctrinally may remain aloof to the Jews and their land. On the other hand, there are layers of opinion within generic Christianity which include support for Israel.

The fact that Israel is the only democracy in the Middle East and, by extension, provides greater freedoms to its citizens, garners support from Americans, religious or not.

None of these words represent a screed or judgement on generic Christianity. They are written to help the Jewish people better understand who Evangelical Christians are and why we openly and publicly support Israel and the Jewish people.

Eagles and Flags

By CARL WHITE

Life in the Carolinas

I remember visiting the Carolina Raptor Center for a story about its work. As it happened, an American Bald Eagle was scheduled to be released on the day of my visit. Naturally, we included that in our segment. I had not witnessed such an event before, and I don’t think I will ever forget the experience.

I have always prized seeing our flighted national symbol soaring above. I don’t know how you feel about it, but it gives me a feeling of awe and patriotic pride.

The American Bald Eagle can reach flight speeds of 35 to 43 mph and dive speeds of 75 to 99 mph. They tend to mate for life and their nests are the largest of all birds. Native American tribes have honored the eagle for many generations, and in 1782 the American Bald Eagle officially become part of the American identity.

I was aware of some of this history before I witnessed the release of the rehabilitated eagle. Learning about the medical attention and rehabilitation that was required to release this amazing animal back to the wild was amazing and inspirational.

The environment was charged with excitement and anticipation as the moment drew near for the release of our symbol of liberty. Our crew was within a few feet of the eagle’s wings; we did not want to miss anything. We could see every movement and hear every sound. We wondered which way he would fly. We were reminded that he was wild, and he would go where he wants to go.

It was time. Three, two, one…and there he went, it seemed like, within inches of where we stood. You could hear the exhales and then the applauds from the spectators.

We were all wowed by what we had just witnessed. At that moment I became committed to learning more about this majestic animal.

We are a nation with many symbols that stir our emotions.

Not so long about I was visiting with a friend who has one of those charming Southern front porches lined with white rockers. He is a US veteran, and he always has the American flag flying. I noticed that the flag was a bit weathered, and I told him that I would be honored to purchase a new flag for display.

He said, “Well, this one is not so bad.” He went on to tell me the story of the flag and how it had made its way to him after flying over our nation’s capital. He then told me about another weathered flag that he flies on special occasions. It is from friends at the US Coast Guard, and it flew when they were stationed in Iraq.

He and I are good friends, but he said to me, “It’s not good to mess with a man’s flag.” I told him I understood, but to say that it gave me something to think about would be an understatement.

I have heard a lot of stories about flags, uniforms and medals. I have had short and long conversations with men and women who have served our nation. Not all the conversations have been comfortable, and the short ones where short for a reason. Some memories carry a lot of pain and for some people they are better left unrecalled.

I do not pretend to understand the complexities of the emotional realities of everyone; I’m not sure I understand my own. However, I am sure of this. I am inspired at the sight of the American Bald Eagle, I love our American flag and the many things that it stands for and I am grateful for the men and women who keep them both flying.

NC Early College Futures Hang in the (Budget) Balance

Heather Dean

Record Reporter

North Carolinas Early College High Schools (ECHS), also called cooperative innovative high schools (CIHS), are usually found on a campus of a university or community college. These partnerships expand students’ opportunities for education success through high quality instructional programming, are aimed at students who are at risk of dropping out of school, first-generation college students, and students who can use the extra attention and accelerated atmosphere provided by the schools. In the five year program, students receive their high school diploma and tuition free two year degree. Only 15 out of 100 counties in North Carolina do not have an Early College High School.

Currently, 97 of the state’s 115 school districts have 133 Cooperative Innovative High Schools, including 114 funded partnerships: 117 partners with community colleges, 11 partners with UNC institutions, and 5 partners with independent colleges. They are among the state’s most successful high schools, with high graduation rates and school test scores, and consistently outperform on state exams and college readiness as compared with other schools. The SERVE Center at UNC-Greensboro found among ECHS students, an increased high school graduation rate with students getting a two-year associate’s degree and that those students were getting a four-year college degree faster. According to SERVE Centerstudies, each graduating class of early college students could bring an estimated $92 million in increased lifetime benefits to society, such as through increased tax payments and reduced incarceration costs.

In North Carolina, statistics for the 2017-2018 school year show 100% graduation of the 26,090 students in the program; 72% of the early colleges received a school performance grade of A, compared to 6.5% in regular public school. Yet, even with those impressive numbers, State Senate budget writers are proposing cutting $26 million in extra funding, and over the next three years, cutting all funding together, making ECHS’ in the poorest counties and with the most need facing closure. Some may argue the budget cuts won’t have a drastic effect as these schools get more state supplemental funding than traditional schools get, but if the budget cuts go through, they are ultimately doomed, as there is not sufficient county funding to makeup the loss.

The state used to provide each early college with $300,000 a year. But in 2017, state lawmakers reduced the funding to between $180,000 and $275,000 a year, depending on the wealth of the county where the school is located. Tier 1 counties, the poorest, received $275,000 annually. Tier 2 got $200,000, and Tier 3 received $180,000.

The Wilkes Early College High School has been in operation since 2009, and has accepted over 600 students during that time. They accept an average of 60 children a year and currently have approximately 260 students, and are a Tier 2 level school.

Michelle Shepherd, Principal at Wilkes Early High School said “Our goal is to help students prepare for career ready, college ready, and life ready skills. The jeopardy of losing supplemental funding would surely be detrimental to our program. I think the term “supplemental” is very misleading; it should be seen as essential funding. We must have this funding to help with college textbook purchases, personnel, and supplies. We are seeing the program have significant returns to our community. One such example is a returning student to Wilkes Early College as now an English II teacher. We have to tell our story and see the returns of our investment to our community.”

Wes Martin, Wilkes County High School Drama Department teacher said “I think dropping the early college would be a terrible thing. I believe it gives students the opportunity to get a two year degree that they otherwise might not get. Also the seniors and super seniors coming out of the early college or some of the most mature kids I’ve ever worked with.”

An online petition started by Natasha Gouge on Change.Org, to NC House of Representatives and Senators, has garnered over 3,000 signatures already, with many of those being from students and educators from across the state.

Jane Semler from Dover, TN, signed the petition and said “Top students need recourses just as much as those on the bottom end of the curve. Each child deserves a public education that meets their learning needs, including the need for high achievers to grow. Typically, public schools do not have the means to meet those above grade level needs, particularly for high school students. Early college meets those needs and should be available at no additional cost for high achieving students whose needs can no longer be met by their public high school.”

Senate Majority Whip Jerry Tillman, R-Randolph, chairs the Senate’s education appropriations committee said “I’m not for that particular cut; I’m trying my best to get it back.” Budget writers from the Senate and the House, are working on a compromise budget. You can email him at [email protected].

LETTER TO THE EDITOR

To the Editor:

There is talk of possibly cutting state funding for Early Colleges. One early college, the Marine Science and Technologies Early College High School, has recently been voted out by their local Board of Education as they were under the impression that such a program would not only have county funding, but state funding too.

As an Alumnus of the Wilkes Early College High School, to hear of budget cuts for this program and to hear of counties resulting in having to close them, is disheartening. Growing up and living in a rural county like Wilkes, it was understood rather quickly that options are limited. I had applied for one spot out of sixty at the behest of my parents and was accepted. For the next five years, I worked towards both a high school diploma and a two-year college degree. Those five years were some of the best. I had developed a true sense of self, formed lasting memories and relationships, and was academically prepared for when I went to ASU.

These Early College programs work. They prepare students for life outside of high school and I hope the funding for these programs stay intact.

F. Hernandez

North Wilkesboro

#We hold these truths to be self evident…or not By HEATHER DEAN Record Reporter Next week Americans whether by birth or by naturalization wil

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Part One: We All Go a Little Mad, Sometimes. (Sam, Interrupted S05E11)

Useful Links: Last Part | All Episodes Word Count: 5,867. A/N: Finally, a new episode! I meant to put this out a few days ago, but let’s be real, I've been so lazy. I hope this was worth the wait. The second part should be out soon!

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It's been three weeks since you have been brought back from the dead. Twenty-one days since the failed attempt at killing the Devil. You and the boys tried to keep yourselves busy over the past few weeks by taking hunts where you could try and keep your mind occupied. Most of the conversation between the three of you had been about the hunts, nothing else. Nobody had spoken about the elephant in the room. Nobody had the true guts to talk about what they had seen that night. And you were happy with that. For some reason, you didn’t want to think about what you had witnessed in that horrific day or what the Devil told you. It was crushing enough to know the only lead you’d been chasing for months was just a dead end. You were back at square one with the apocalypse still nipping at your heels. The pressure alone could make anyone go crazy. But that's not why you were sitting in a doctor’s office of a psychiatric ward.

You sat in one of those uncomfortable office chairs as you sat with your hands neatly folded in your lap, watching as Dr. Fuller, one of the doctors at Glenwood Springs Psychiatric Hospital, overlooked the documents you had forged and faxed before arriving this morning. He opened up the case file to read the bogus diagnosis you had given the younger Winchester. It was a fairly simple operation to getting yourselves into the hospital; Sam decided to be the one to take the bait of being the patient you were trying to get help, as Dean was his concerned brother that was fearful the man was getting worse. You reached out to rest it on the wooden armchair of the seat as Dean made sure to intertwine his fingers with yours, trying to sell the marital status between the both of you. Dr. Fuller glanced up from his paperwork for a moment to look at the two of you. You gave him a smile as you watched his gaze fall down to the wedding and engagement ring on your left hand before slowly going back to reading the paperwork for a moment.

“You were referred to me by a Dr. Babar in Chicago.” Dr. Fuller said. He raised his eyes to look at the three of you as he dropped the file to his desk. You nodded your head, not seeming what the problem was. “Isn’t there a children’s book about an elephant named Babar?”

"Really?" You laughed off the question as you smiled again at him. You felt Dean lightly squeezed your hand as he gave the doctor a small smile, joining in on your fake amusement of the situation. He glanced over at you as he gave you a subtle look, wondering why you had chosen a name that would have brought less suspicion. The doctor was right. There had been a series of children's books with an elephant named Babar, they were your favorite growing up. It was late when you were typing up the documents, you were tired and the name just popped in your head. You honestly didn't know anyone would make the connection. "Conidence?"

“I don’t know. My wife and I don’t have any elephant books. We don’t even have kids yet. It’s hard to think about just yet. I mean, we'd love to a few little ones running around in the near future. But we have our plate full right now. My brother's been getting worse over the past year. We think the doc was over in his head with this one 'cause he’s, uh..." Dean attempted to swing the conversation back to why you were here. He pointed a finger at his brother before he twirled it into the air, making a quiet whistle noise to prove that he thought the man was a bit mental.

“Okay, fine. Thank you. That’s—That’s really not necessary.” Dr. Fuller stopped the man, finding his actions inappropriate for the setting he was in. He reached out and picked up the file to read over the diagnosis just one more time. Glancing up at the younger Winchester, he decided to get a bit more of a proper viewing of what he could be dealing with. “Why don’t you tell me how you’re feeling, Alex?”

"I'm fine." Sam said as he let out a frustrated sigh, making the doctor believe he was dragged here against his will. You turned your head and placed your free hand on his forearm. He scoffed when you attempted to give him a concerned look, playing the part perfectly as he looked back over at the doctor that sat behind the desk. "I mean, okay, a little depressed, I guess."

“All right.” Dr. Fuller said, he jotted a few notes down. “Any idea why?”

"Probably because I started the apocalypse." Sam said, deciding the truth was the best form of crazy either one of you could get that. Dr. Fuller glanced up from his paperwork, caught off guard from what he heard. He repeated what the man said, wondering what he meant by that exactly. The doctor looked over at you and Dean, slightly confused at what he was hearing, Dean rolled his eyes, as if he was annoyed at the same story as you gave the man an apologetic smile from the complicated case you were giving him. "Well, yeah. I mean I killed this demon—Lilith—and I accidentally freed Lucifer from Hell. So now he's topside, and we're trying to stop him."

“Who is?” The doctor asked.

“Me. And them.” Sam answered as he pointed a finger at the both of you for clarification. “And, uh, this one angel.”

"Oh. You mean like a—like an angel on your shoulder?" Dr. Fuller presumed as he tapped his pen on his shoulder, wondering that was what the younger man meant.

“No.” Sam said. “His name is Castiel. He wears a trench coat.”

"See what I mean, doc? I mean, the kid's been beating himself up about this for months. The apocalypse wasn't his fault." Dean said, deciding it was the perfect time to jump in on the little act. The doctor glanced up from his paper to give the man a slightly bewildered look, asking why that it wasn't. "There was this other demon—Ruby. She got him addicted to demon blood. I mean, near the end, he was practically chugging the stuff. And there was this one time she convinced him to give her a shot of the stuff.” The Winchester pointed his thumb at you as he continued on telling the story. “You see, at the time we were interrogating this other demon, Alistair. Nasty son of a bitch. Everything seemed to be going well, until, he got loose and started beating the crap out of us. She landed herself in the hospital and we didn’t know if she was going to make it. Ruby convinced Sam to give her some of her own blood to heal her. Which was what Lilith wanted all along.”

"Yeah. You see, Lilith had spent all of last year trying to break these sixty six seals that broke Lucifer out of the cage in the first place. We tried to stop her after she sent us both to hell the year prior. He made a deal to save his brother’s life after he was stabbed. I sold my soul to this demon named Crowley to take his spot. But it didn't work." You explained to the doctor. "Him and I went to Hell, but after four months, we both got out for different reasons. Cas pulled Dean out because

broke the first seal. I got freed because my dad, who’s a demon himself, made a deal with Alistair along with not having any memories of being tortured in Hell. Lilith tracked me down, force fed me her blood, and I remembered everything. Not fun, trust me."

"Kind of put a damper in our relationship for a while, but I like to think we're stronger now." Dean said to the doctor. He looked over at you to give you a smile, knowing last year had been a rough time for the both of you. But you had to admit, things between the both of you had never been better, despite the things he had seen weeks ago. "Right, sweetheart?"

"Wait, wait." The doctor stopped you before you could say anything, wanting to jump back to a small detail that you slipped into the conversation. "You said your father was a demon?"

“Yup. She's a half demon, my brother and I are the meat suit for Michael and Lucifer. Some could say that this entire situation was all his fault. I mean, yeah he made some pretty stupid decisions, but that wasn't him. He's not evil like he thinks that he is. He was just...high." Dean explained the rest of the situation to the doctor. You fidgeted slightly in your seat as he continued on talking. “So, could you fix him up so we can get back traveling around the country and hunting monsters?”

Dr. Fuller gave all of you a polite smile as he pointed his index finger at the three of you. You didn’t need to say anything else for the man to be convinced that you needed help. He reached out to grab his phone and pressed it against his ear, pressing a button, he waited a second before he was connected with his receptionist, thinking he was going to have his hands full for the rest of the day. “Erma...cancel my lunch.”

A few minutes later, you and the boys were being lead down a hallway of the hospital by a nurse who was directing you to a few of the examination rooms to do a quick psychical. “Dr. Fuller would like to keep the three of you under observation for a couple of days.” She explained to all of you as she looked over her shoulder to give you a smile. Dean pretended to be surprised at the news as he asked if she meant by you and him. “Yes, sugar. The doctor thinks that would be best.”

You and the boys were directed to separate examination rooms so the nurse would assess your physical health along with asking a few questions that were standard to get a deeper peek into your mental health. In under a half an hour you surrounded over your clothing for a comfortable pair of slippers, some pajamas and a robe that all of the patients were directed to wear. You felt a little weird about being this honest with strangers when you told them about the mess you had been dealing with for the past few years. To them, you were just another patient, but they listened and smiled, making you believe that what you were saying was all true. The nurse directed you to the recreation room where a few other patients had been occupying. You glanced around to see if you could spot the boys. It took a second to see Dean, who was sitting on top of one of the couches with his arms crossed over his chest, looking a little uncomfortable.

Sam wasn't far behind you, you looked over to see that he was heading forward to the both of you. You furrowed your brow slightly, wondering why he was walking so weird. “Hey,” Dean’s voice brought your attention over to him when he noticed you and his little brother had arrived back after getting acquainted with the place. “How was your silk wood shower?”

"Okay. Yeah. Good. Yeah. Good, um...good water pressure." Sam tried to sound normal. But he couldn't beat around the bush anymore when he asked, "Did the nurse—"

“She was very thorough.” Dean muttered underneath his breath.

You let out a quiet laugh from their reaction of the examine that had become a little too unbearable for them to handle. “What did you guys expect to happen?” You asked. You looked at the both of them before you rolled your eyes. “They do it for safety reasons so you don’t bring in anything that you might use to hurt yourself or others.”

Dean didn't seem to find your words comforting, he took a moment to look around at the place to see what he would be dealing with over the next few days. He could see most of the patients here were a bunch of loons and drugged out of their minds. One was passed out on the table as another was playing with a bunny, who looked like she was having the time of her life. He shook his head and he scoffed underneath his breath, “I can't believe I let you talk me into this.”

“You didn’t have to come, Dean.” You flat out said, not in the mood to hear his bellyaching on this hunt about the stunts he was going to have to pull for a case that might not be even be here. You examined the room yourself, but unlike the oldest Winchester, you harbored no judgement for the people around you that were here to help. When you glanced over at him, you rolled your eyes at the expression he was giving you from the response he wasn’t expecting to hear. “Don’t look at me like that. Sam and I could have done this without your help. But you insisted.”

“Touchy, touchy. Who pissed in your cornflakes this morning, sweetheart?” Dean asked you. You gave him a look from the question that was nothing short of sarcasm, like he was just trying to test his luck at pushing all of your buttons without realizing it. For some reason, over the past few weeks, you’d been in a mood that nothing could quite take the edge off. You blamed it on the stress you had been feeling over the past few weeks. “I’m just saying how I feel. That’s all.”

“Well,” You scoffed quietly underneath your breath at his response. “That’s a first.”

"Guys, come on." Sam snapped the both of you out of a possible argument that might stir up some trouble with the staff. You crossed your arms over your chest and said nothing more, knowing you might regret what came out of your mouth next if Dean kept talking. “It’s the least we could do. Martin saved Dad’s ass more times than we can count. He’s a great hunter.”

“Was.” Dean corrected the younger man. “Until Albuquerque.”

“Besides, I-I think it’s be best to keep busy. That's all.” Sam said, changing the subject slightly. You looked over at him with a bit of a skeptical look, wondering what he meant by that, and why he was looking over at you with a concerned expression. It seemed the mood shifted between the boys, you asked them what was going on between the both of them, Sam let out a quiet sigh, deciding to be the one who break the ice on the topic everyone had been trying to avoid. “Okay, look—uh...Last few weeks, you've been kind of worrying us, Y/N.”

“Oh, guys. Come on.” You mumbled as you shook your head, wondering why they had chosen now to try and ask how you were feeling. “Look, just because we’re in a psychiatric hospital doesn't mean you two need to go all Freud on me.”

“Y/N,” Sam tried his hardest to get you to change your mind about opening up as he gave you his puppy dog eyes, wanting to make it clear that he was just trying to look out for you. “Don't shut us out. We just want to talk.”

“What is there to talk about? I’m fine, guys. Really.” You told them, adding the effort to even given them a little bit of a convincing smile to get them to back off a bit. “There's nothing to talk about.”

You wanted to leave the conversation at that as you tried walking away from them and to another part of the room, but Dean wasn't having it. He reached out and grabbed you lightly on the wrist, pulling you back to them. You gave him a look, he returned it with a concerned demeanor. “Yes, there is. You…” Dean cautiously looked around to see if anyone might be listening in on the conversation, but then he was reminded that he was in a mental hospital, what they were saying would just end up being passed off as some loony talk. “You died almost a month ago, again. And you refuse to talk to about it. You're always grumpy. You hardly sleep and you barely eat. Don't tell me and Sam that you're fine. It's crap, Y/N.”

You retracted your hand as you crossed your arms over your chest, knowing well enough that Dean’s accusations were all true. You've been been barely sleeping at all, you were afraid to. Whenever you tried to close your eyes it was only a chance for your mind to replay the night that everything went wrong, and what might happen if Lucifer was right. Eating didn't seem appetite when your body was filled with constant anxiety. You felt like you were on the brink of a panic attack, but you managed to pull yourself back before you could go overboard. And the attitude came about because you weren't taking care of yourself. They were right. But you didn't want to give the satisfaction of knowing.

“What's there to talk about?” You asked them. “I’m

. Stop worrying about me. It's annoying.”

“Well, now you know how it feels when you're always bugging us to share our feelings.” Dean said, his lips stretching into a faint smile from the joke he was trying to make at an attempt of lighting up the mood. You bit your bottom lip as you stared at him with a glare. “See? You’re stressed. You saw something when you were...out. Why don't you want to tell us?”

“I didn’t see anything!” You found yourself yelling at the boys on the top of your lungs. Suddenly you felt yourself overwhelmed with the pressure of admitting the truth they weren't ready to hear, if they ever could. A few nurses peered their head out to see if everything was all right as the patients looked at you with startled reactions. You inhaled a deep breath to keep from anymore unwanted attention on the three of you. “I didn't see anything. It was just dark before I woke up. That's it. I swear.”

“Don't lie to us, Y/N. Please.” Sam tried to reason with you as he looked at you with an empathetic stare. You looked at him with a hardening expression at what he said next. “You always do this to us when something bad happens. You shut down and pretend nothing's wrong. Losing Jo and Ellen at the same time isn't easy. Not talking about it and avoiding it isn't going to make you feel any better. What you saw out there, it's got to be one of the worst things yet...I mean, you're not like us. You didn't grow up in this lifestyle, you’re not screwed up like us. So it's understandable if you're feeling vulnerable right now."

“What's that supposed to mean?” You asked the younger Winchester, finding his comforting words having a different meaning than what they had meant to be. Sam looked at you with a confused look as he wondered why you were suddenly overreacting at his words that he meant to try and help you feel better. You crossed your arms tightly over your body and snapped at the man. "Just because I wasn't born into this lifestyle—because my mother wasn't an obsessive freak—doesn't mean I'm any less of a hunter than you are. God forbid if I don't wallow in sadness the way you expect me to. I'm handling their deaths just fine, by the way. I think I'm used to people dropping like flies around me."

“That’s not what I meant, Y/N.” Sam said, his voice shifted slightly when you gave hims the response he wasn’t expecting. You stared at him with a glare, not wanting anymore of this help that wasn’t getting either one of you anywhere. “You just can’t keep this crap in.”

Your lips stretched into a grim smile, “Watch me.”

Dean knew there was no way of getting you to talk about your feelings right now from the sour look on your face. Letting out a faint sigh, he looked around the room to see if he could find Martin among the group of patients, it took a moment, but he spotted the other hunter in the far left side of the room. Martin occupied a table that was right next to the window that overlooked the outside gardens. He seemed lost in his own personal thoughts, or too drugged out of his mind to figure out what was going on around him when the three of you started to approach the man. It took Dean of saying the man's name to get him to snap out of his thoughts. Martin looked over at the boys for a second, not sure who they were, but taking a closer inspection, you watched as his face lit up as a smile spread across his face.

“Sam. Dean.” Martin greeted the men as he jumped up from his seat. He eagerly reached out to shake their hands, happy to see them again after so many years. Most hunters you had met who had known the brothers earlier in their life had seen them only as little kids who were little runts. But now, both of the boys being well over six feet tall, were shadows of their previous selves after being raised in the hunting lifestyle. And good genes helped, too. “Wow. Wow, you boys got big. You look good.”

“Thanks.” Sam said, a smile spread across his lips. “You do, too, Martin.”

You observed the other man for a moment, taking notice of how much older he appeared than what you were expecting. Martin had to be just about how old John would be, if he were still alive, with crow's feet outlined at the sides of his eyes when he gave the three of you a toothy smile, with a hint of nervousness behind it. You stretched your lips into a polite smile when he turned his attention in your direction. "Oh." Martin gave you a small wave as he gave you an unsure look, wondering who you might be. "And who's this?"

"This is Y/N. Our other hunting partner." Dean introduced you. You gave the older man a smile as you gave him a wave, showing off the most happiness the brothers had seen since you had gotten here. But it soon faded from the remark that Dean made. "And friend when she doesn't have a stick up her ass."

Martin seemed a little confused at the sarcasm, but he chuckled, breaking what tension there might still be lingering between the three of you. "Well, thanks for coming. Now, come on. Come on." He gestured with his hands for all of you to take a seat. You managed to snag the only free one that was right across from Martin, leaving the boys to pull up a few plastic chairs from other tables before settling themselves down. "In the old days, I could've taken this thing with both hands t-tied behind my back. But, well, now..."

“What do you think it is that we’re hunting?” You asked Martin.

“I don’t know yet. A ghost, demon, monster. Animal, vegetable, mineral.” Martin tried to make a joke as he let out a chuckle. You gave him a weak smile, attempting to understand his weak attempt at making a joke. "Hospital's had five deaths in the last four months. Doctors keep calling it suicides, but they're wrong."

“So you’ve seen this thing?” Sam wondered.

Martin glanced away from the younger Winchester, settling his gaze on the table as he shook his head no to answer the question. "Has anyone see this thing?" Dean asked.

“Well, a couple of patients have, uh, had glimpses.” Martin said. “But that’s not a lot to go on.”

“Are they reliable?” Dean asked the other hunter. Martin wondered why the oldest Winchester would ask such a thing. He thought they were reliable, so why would he question that? Dean had a few ideas of what flaws might be in trusting someone that...might not be all there. You followed his gaze when he shifted around slightly in his chair to give an example. You furrowed your brow to see an older woman enjoying herself as she twirled around the room with an invisible partner as she hummed the music underneath her breath. “Gee, I don’t know.”

“I know you boys think I’m a bag of loose screws. Well, you wouldn’t be wrong.” Martin agreed to that point. The man might not be the hunter he used to be, yet his instincts were still sharp as a tac. “But I wouldn’t have called you unless there was something here. I can feel it in my gut.”

You looked over at the boys for a moment to see what they had thought about this. Things for the three of you were slow, no hunts had popped up, and the Devil was still on the loose. Your only possible lead was a dead end. All of you had been sitting around, twiddling your thumbs, until the boys had gotten the call from Martin. You shrugged your shoulders, thinking this might be a case for all of you to work on and keep yourselves busy. “We believe you.” Sam reassured the man. “Have you checked any of the bodies, found signs of an attack?”

“Well, uh, no.” Martin changed his demeanor at the mention of going around something that made him feel squeamish. He nervously swallowed as his body tensed up at the thought. “I don’t, uh...I don’t go around dead b-bo...b-bodies anymore.”

"Alex, Eddie. Norma." You heard a familiar voice coming from behind you. Looking over your shoulder, you noticed Dr. Fuller had decided to see how the three of you were settling yourselves in. "Well, I'm glad to see you're making friends. Why don't you and Mr. Creaser join us for group? Please. Right this way." You looked over at Sam, both of you thinking you really didn't have a choice in the matter, plus it might give you a better chance at hearing what was going on here. All of you got up from your chairs and began walking down to where Dr. Fuller had gestured, but it seemed there was only room for three more, as Dean was left standing near the table. "Actually. I'm going to be putting you in the afternoon group."

“What?” Dean asked. “Why?”

“Well, to be frank, uh, the relationship that you have with your brother and ‘wife’ seems dangerously codependent.” Dr. Fuller explained to the man. “I think a little time apart will do the three of you good.”

You were a bit thrown off from the observation the doctor had made from just being around you for only a little while. If only he knew that all of you spent almost twenty four hours together, seven days a week. You looked over at Dean, who was a bit confused at why this needed to happen, but you waved him goodbye, thinking that spending some time apart was just what the doctor ordered.

+ + +

"All right, so, who would like to start us off?" Dr. Fuller lead you all into another room just down the hall where he had a circle of chairs all lined up. You sat yourself down and kicked out your legs, wondering what was going to come of this meeting. You looked around the circle of patients to see if anyone was here because of social anxiety. Most people didn't speak a single peep, but one patient in particular didn't waste a second to throw his arm up in the air as an attempt to get the doctor's attention. Dr. Fuller let out a quiet sigh, hoping someone might be brave enough to talk, but everyone remained silent, forcing him to call on the overly eager patient. "All right, Ted. Calm down."

“I am calm.” Ted said. You listened to what he had to say, as it was what exactly what you were hoping to hear. You shifted around in your seat as you looked at Sam from the corner of your eye to see if he was interested as you were about this. “And I’d very calmly like to talk about the monster that’s hunting us.”

“Ted,” Dr. Fuller warned the man that was sitting across from him in the circle. “We’re not going to have that discussion again. It’s not good for group.”

“I agree. You know what else isn’t good for group?” Ted asked. You watched as he began to shift slightly in his seat, seeming overwhelmed with fear at the threat of a creature stalking the halls. “A monster eating all our faces off!”

“All right, fine. Thank you.” Dr. Fuller said, brushing off the man’s concerns. “Now, anyone else—”

“I saw it!” Ted yelled out. “When it killed Susan!”

“I did, too. It had big lobster claws.” A woman agreed with Ted, trying her attempt at helping uncover a monster. But Ted didn't like her description of the monster when he shouted at her that it didn't, but she continued on. "Yeah, and it was an alien, like on 'X-Files.'"

“Stop it! Stop helping! Listen to me!” Ted warned all of you as he rocked slightly in his spot. You watched as his eyes lingered to the door that had a window just small enough to look outside to the hallway. “We’re all dead!”

“That’s enough!” Dr. Fuller shouted at the man, making him cut the nonsense that he was trying to start with the other patients. You looked over to see the doctor wasn’t happy. He leaned slightly in his seat as he took off his glasses and looked at Ted straight in the eye, wanting to make one thing clear. “There is no monster. Now, Ted, do you need me to call the orderlies...Or can you behave?”

Ted shook his head, not wanting to cause trouble. He listened to what the doctor had said as he mumbled, "No."

+ + +

Group therapy was over about an hour later, after hearing a few other interesting stories, you and Sam were still interested in what Ted had to say about this supposed monster. You wanted to have a few words with him to hear what else he might have to say, but it would be almost impossible while Dr. Fuller was around, watching all of you like a hawk. You and Sam headed out into the hall and began looking for Dean, who had to be around here somewhere. You managed to find him roaming around the place, he seemed to have been a bit in a daze, but when you reached out and pulled him back into reality, Dean looked at you with a defeated look, like something was seriously bothering him.

“You okay?” You asked him with a concerned expression.

"I just got 'thraped.' So, no, Y/N," Dean answered you. "I am not okay."

"First off, don't ever say 'thraped' again. Just...don't." You said, not finding his play on words the least bit funny. "And what? Someone finally make you tap into all those emotions?"

Dean looked at you with an annoyed expression, while he was tempted himself to make a remark about your lingering attitude, he chose to be the bigger person here. Well, big as someone with his personality could be. "Tell me you and 'Girl, Interrupted' found something."

"Yeah. A guy says he saw the creature. We should talk to him." Sam said, giving the some information that was the only real lead you had right now. "Want to meet back here in an hour?"

"Yeah." Dean agreed with the plan. "The sooner we take care of this thing, the sooner we can get gone. This place gives me the creeps."

You couldn't agree more with what Dean had said for once. This place just gave you the wrong kind of vibes that you weren't exactly used to. But this place was for people to get the help they needed to make their lives better. Turning around in your spot on the floor, you were about to head for your room, but you came face to face with another woman, who, from the way she was dressed, must have been a patient. You gave her a friendly smile when you noticed she was staring at you with a smile of her. You were about to step out of her way, thinking you might have been blocking the hall, but that wasn't the case at all. She seemed to not have been like the rest of the patients here, for she was all kinds of friendly. You weren't expecting it when she leaned over and decided to have a little bit of fun, and by that, she pressed her lips against yours.

You were nothing short of surprise of what the hell was happening, but you found yourself quickly shutting your eyes and as this complete stranger decided to start making out with you in the middle of the hallway. She wasn't a bad kisser, either. You enjoyed the kiss for a moment or so longer before she pulled away, you inhaled a breath as she looked at you with a grin. She whispered hi, you found your voice, managing to say hello back as you gave her a small smile.

“I’m Wendy.” She introduced herself to you.

“Uh-huh.” You mumbled at her as your lips stretched into a wobbly smile. “I’m...uh...”

Wendy gave you a smirk, seeming satisfied at the greeting that she wanted to share for only you. She looked over at the boys and gave them a smile as she started to walk away, only as she walked passed you, she decided to be a bit more cheeky. You let out a faint squeak when you felt you lightly tap you on the ass. You looked over your shoulder to see her give you one last smile and wave, leaving you standing there with a pink tint starting to creep across the apples of your cheeks, quietly wondering what had unraveled. You waited a moment before your eyes wandered over to the boys. Sam was frozen in his spot as his mouth parted open slightly, he tried to form a few words into a sentence, but nothing really seemed to fall out. Dean stared at you with a slowly itching grin, like a typical man, he thought what had unraveled was the thing of fantasy.

"Well," You cleared your voice as you licked your lips, getting one more taste of Wendy as you felt yourself grow a bit of a smile. "Maybe this place isn't so bad after all."

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